Ignorance is Peace, Pathetic, Carlisle?
by KerryMosh
Summary: Sherlock, Supernatural, Doctor Who what more do you want? Rated M for dark-ish scenes. First time writing so please comment! -Hurt and comfort, romance, character death, rape-
1. Chapter 1

Ignorance is Peace, Pathetic, Carlisle?

CHAPTER 1

"TELL ME WHAT THEY ARE?!"

"You can shout all you like Dean, kill me go ahead, but we will find out what you're up to."

"Are you saying Crawley isn't behind this?"

"Don't play stupid Winchester, although it has always suited you." A swift stab in to the thigh made the demon clench his jaw in withheld agony as the holy water pumped through the veins of a young soap factory worker; Jeremy.

"Dean, we've been at this for hours, I don't think he actually knows anything." Dean eyed his brother, and then back at the demon, he clenched his fists in frustration and threw the knife in to the wall, flying past the demons right eye, severing one of its free falling ridiculous bangs. Sam watched him leave the room; he watched the tension knotting his shoulders as he slammed the door behind him.

"Pouty little bitch isn't he." Sam started the chant.

Two steps at a time Sam strode in to Bobby's living room, both of the older men looking frustrated with a whiskey in hand. Sam took a seat and opened his mouth to break the silence, but Dean beat him to it.

"I swear to God Sam, don't say it."

"But Dean..."

"We're not calling him. Period."

"But Dean, if Hell isn't behind these cracks then maybe its Heaven, we need to call Cas."

"We're not calling that son of a bitch." Sam sent a distressed look at Bobby for backup who returned with a helpless shrug.

"Dean." Dean released the bridge of his nose and begrudgingly looked at him in the eye. "Seriously Dean, what happened in Vegas? Since Vegas we can't even mention Cas without you going nuclear, or shutting off completely. It's not healthy and it's jeopardising our work."

"Healthy." Dean threw himself up from the chair and launched himself across the room staring down Sam. "How is any of this healthy Sam? What we do. How we live. And then Cas comes in...A freaking Tinkerbelle with a halo...and just...AH! God damn..." Sam watched Dean clamp his lips shut, swallowing the rest of his rant.

Dean always felt Cas' presence seconds before he announced himself, and he felt the familiar light tingle dance up his insides stemming from the handprint on his shoulder. Sam saw Dean's whole body tighten as Cas appeared behind him. The air felt taut and thick with tension as no-one dared move first, breath was held for seconds but felt like minutes before Cas finally sliced the friction fizzing in the air with a baritone;

"Hello Dean. You called."

Dean practically spat: "No-one called you." Sam didn't know why Dean turned in to a teenage girl having a tantrum when Cas was around but it was undeniable that they needed Cas' help.

"Yes, thank you Cas, we need to know what's going on with the angels." Cas' eyes had been scrutinising Dean's back, raised under his eyebrows, shadowed.

"It isn't the angels."

"Well gosh darn it, if it aint you damn pixies and it aint them demons then who the hell is causing this chaos?"

Cas looked at Bobby momentarily before turning away solemnly: "We don't know."

"Always the drama queen!" Dean had positioned himself, back against the wall, fresh drink in his hand and glaring darkly at the angel. Cas flinched and directed his gaze at Sam instead.

"We have been trying to _gather_ information but we have been unsuccessful, and with nowhere else to turn." He tested a glance at Dean who returned with a look of disgust, Cas pursed his lips and continued: "But we might know someone who could help."

Sam unfurrowed his eyebrows and looked up. "What, who?"

"She's known as the Oracle."

"The Oracle? As in a medium?"

"Yes, but much more powerful, in some ways she is more powerful than myself."

"So she's not human?"

"She is considered more of a human deity. We don't really know much about her, she is forbidden amongst heaven, but there are ancient rumours of her..._talents._"

Dean hoisted himself off the wall and stood in front of Sam, nose to nose with Cas. "So why haven't you gone to her sooner?" His features were hard and his eyes appeared dead.

"...Personal space Dean..." Dean's eyes widened and his upper lip curled revealing his teeth as a scoff threatened to turn in to a snarl but he dismissed the growl and circled the table to stand behind Bobby. "Well, she is strong and she is dangerous, but angels are unable to gain contact."

Sam stopped trying to process his brothers hostility and snapped back in to the conversation; "What do you mean unable? As in forbidden by God?"

"Yes God has forbidden attempts too, but it is some sort of spell, a form of magic that even Lucifer couldn't break, Angels and Demons alike cannot get close enough to her."

"So you want us to do it?"

"Yes."

Sam turned to Bobby at a loss to make a decision. "We'll do it, wha'd we need?" Answered the gruff voice. Castiel sighed and sat in front of the grimy windows that gave his silhouette a luminescent edge, even Dean could see his exhaustion tremble faintly through his muscles.

"There will need to be a ritual, performed on the outskirts of where the Oracle resides."

"Well that's nothing new."

"And." Castiel tried to meet the three sets of eyes on him but couldn't and settled to look at an unidentifiable stain on the wall. "There needs to be a sacrifice."

"A blood sacrifice?"

Castiel answered with a deeper 'Yes' than usual.

"No! We're not doing that, no way." Dean had taken the floor again.

"Dean it isn't as bad as it sounds." Castiel pleaded.

"Oh, please reword it to make bleeding an innocent to death sound like a good thing."

"We don't have to kill anyone; we just need 10ml of blood. And I will assist you in retrieving it."

"Like we are going to trust you to do that!"

"DEAN!" Both Sam and Bobby silenced Dean with warning looks. "Cas is our friend; you can't treat him like this." Sam turned back to apologise to Castiel who had sunken in to his trench coat, looking so forlorn like a lost puppy. Dean scoffed and stormed out the door without another word, but the gentle rumble of the engine said he had gone for a drive to cool off and would probably return stinking of booze and sex.

"You damn kids and your problems." Bobby poured himself another drink and even Cas didn't refuse the offer to down one or two. "Spill wings, what's eaten ya?"

"I...I don't know..." Still not meeting anyone's gaze Castiel feigned ignorance. Pushing them wasn't helping, Sam rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but seriously Cas you two have got to sort it out. Dean has been getting reckless, it's like he doesn't care anymore ya know. Well, care about his own safety at least." Cas lifted his head at this and Sam was sure he saw a flash of guilt or pain before his features hardened and 'Castiel' was back.

"Ok. But I need to tell you the ritual so you can start the preparations."

He had both windows rolled down, anger tinted his cheeks and pricked behind his eyes, but the caress of the tarmac on rubber brought that wash of familiarity and calm. A separation from everything outside these six windows. He didn't know where he was going he just knew he needed to go and just keep moving forward. Never stand still, always keep moving and try not to look back. He slowed the speed watching the trees rise and fall on either side of the narrow road, as if he was driving down their time line. He closed his eyes. Ignorance is peace.

"Hello Dean."

"SON OF A..." The car swerved to the left drastically but Dean regained control and miraculously without any damage to the car. "What the hell Cas!"

"My apologies. Dean we need to..."

"No we don't need to do anything. Get out of my car you SOB"

"But Dean." Dean slammed on the breaks, the Impala screamed in disgust. His glare stayed faced out the windscreen and his knuckles whitened from gripping the steering wheel. Castiel leant forward to place and hand on Dean's arm, but Dean visibly shuddered before he had even made contact. Castiel recoiled, hurt, then vanished.

Bobby was 'advised' by Castiel to stay at his lodge while Sam waited for Dean to return so they could begin. Bobby had concocted most of the solution. His extensive hoarding had its uses. Castiel had given them the co-ordinates and it had taken them near enough two days to drive there considering Dean wouldn't let Castiel 'mind zap' them there.

"And you're sure you've got your objects?"

"Yea, but look Sammy, I don't like the sound of this, with the precious object thing. You don't think that sounds odd to you? The blood and the contract and the soul part Sam?"

"Of course I do Dean, when have deals ever been a good thing, but what other choice do we have? Cas said this is the only way."

"Well maybe the angels are wrong and this is one of those things we should just walk away from."

"Dean, I know you don't believe that." They stared at each other before Dean blew air from his nose and climbed out the car slamming the door indignantly. They were at the outskirts of The Black Hills National Forest. You wouldn't be able to stumble across the Oracle; you can only have an audience by asking permission through the ritual, according to Castiel it works on any forest. Sam finished setting up and had begun reading the script, stumbling with the ancient language, older than Latin, older than time it sounded.

The chant took some time and Dean looked at the serene outskirts of the forest then back to the dense darkness that seemed to leak between the thick trees. He cursed in his head: 'Why is it always at night.'

Sam paused and pulled out a ring, too dull to glint its potential in the moonlight, he hooked it in one hand along with his blade: "Dean are you ready?" Dean nodded, grabbed the second knife and removed his jacket. Sam offered him a question mark expression but Dean remained emotionless and turned his back to Sam. Sam hesitated a moment longer unsure whether to proceed, but although Dean was off his game he knew he wouldn't do anything completely stupid...

He started the final verse of the chant, roughly translated as: "We offer these gifts. As soul payment. With the blood of the loved. And the blood of the contract." They both sliced their palms, a single smooth movement leaving a gash, thickening with blood, then they took out their vials (one of Bobby's more unusual but once again helpful quirks that he keeps a blood Sample of everyone he can.) And poured the contents over their wound. Sam came to the end of the ritual and placed the ring on the cut. Out of Sam's gaze Dean placed his cut hand on his left shoulder, over a hand print blistered in to his flesh.

"So?" Sam looked up and Dean still had his back to him but was now slipping back on his jacket. They both faced the woods. "What now?"

"Cas just said that after the ritual was done the Oracle would decide whether to allow us permission."

"Well that's just freaking perf..." Thousands of painful creaks and groans bombarded the air as the tress bowed in to each other forming a clear pathway

Sam let out a pleased "Huh" and they trod their way in to the unknown.

"So, Dad's ring?" Sam turned to Dean's question.

"Yeah."

"I didn't know you kept it."

"Mmm." Sam stumbled slightly over the rebellious roots. "And what did you use?"

Dean let his eyes cast down and pursed his lips: "Well, it fit the description."

"But what was so precious that you couldn't show me?"

"Leave it Sammy." Dean had put on his father's voice, that military tone that reminded Sam his place as the younger brother. Sam huffed but dropped the subject. The rest of the twenty minute walk was in a not quite comfortable silence. Sam felt anger bubbling with every step, angry at his brother, angry at Cas, angry why he is being left in the dark...AGAIN. 'Who is Dean protecting? Are the angels telling Dean to kill him again just to eliminate the risk? Is he protecting himself? He is so guarded it is impossible to tell.' But just as Sam was about to attack his brother with questions, a hut came in to view. They looked at each other; smoky blue against hazel-green and they proceeded towards it.

They stood facing the wooden door unsure what their next move was, "It looks uninhabited..." They entered through the archway and were met with a Victorian medium's room of 'wonders,' purple silks draped in hanging rings and everything glittered with plastic magic.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

"Dean."

"Seriously Sam, comeon! It looks like Physic Sally's wet dream."

"Dean!"

"What?!" There was a woman stooped over a crystal ball who hadn't moved from her seat, she hadn't even looked up, but as they moved closer Sam could see the flicker of something below her veil, something was moving. As they circled round the room to face her, a table separating them they saw the piles. Piles and piles of different shades of peach. The piles got darker and higher the further from her and she was sitting on one. The same layered, squashed pile of unidentifiable material, which acted as a throne for her at the table.

Sam cleared his throat: "Ma'am? I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean, are you, the Oracle?"

Her right arm snapped up with such velocity it made Dean reactively move his hand to his gun until he saw her fingers indicating them to sit. They both sat opposite her waiting for her to speak. She said nothing. Her head was pulled in to her chest and her face hidden by matted greying blonde hair and some sort of headdress. While Dean was getting pissed Sam looked round the room, it looked like just the one room in the whole hut, no kitchen. No bedroom. Just the back of the room filled with stacks of pink. The wooden walls were peeling, as was the ceiling. And the floor. The whole house looked like it was in agony. The only thing that struck of interest was the one door behind her. A brass knob shined and not a speck of decolourisation of the wood, it looked so out of place like a dove in a flock of pigeons.

"So lady, we're here, we've played your little game so talk to us."

"...Objects." She still didn't look up but her breathing had become shallow and rapid and her speech wobbled.

"What? That wasn't part of the deal." Sam glanced at Dean who was staring angrily at the figure in front of them.

"Objects. Objects. Objects!" She sounded almost feral and her voice was getting stronger, louder.

"No dammit." Dean crashed his fist on the table. The woman flew forward across the table, grabbed his wrist and with both hands pulled him down the table towards her, knocking the crystal ball flying. Dean let out a small cry of surprise and pain, the grip was tight and firm, much stronger than that of an elderly recluse. He watched her as her head raised from his wrist up to his arm pausing at his shoulder then up to his face. She stared in to his eyes and he could look at nothing else, these eyes were so rich in colour the closer he looked the more dimensions of iris' were revealed. He then realised she couldn't be more than eighteen. Sam gawked at this specimen, a face that unhinged jaws, stops wars. Start wars. Then she spoke. Her voice had more of a musical tone now, it was soft but vibrant. She stroked a gloved hand round Dean's wrist.

"For the answers you seek, I need your possessions." The command brought Dean back and he saw her through suspicious eyes, he noticed her eyes had faded slightly, they darkened with less light shining out, and she had lines around her eyes, crows feet, the longer he looked the deeper they seemed to get. Dean stared he looked at the mouth; he looked at the mouth starting to droop and the cheeks getting hollow. He stared back at sunken eyes that darkened further under angry white eyebrows. He closed his agape mouth and blinked away his confusion and fear.

Her grip tightened, painfully so. Dean let out a cry, she was going to break the bone he was sure of it. Dean cried again. But Sam stepped in.

"Woah, hey, look here you go, you can have them, ok?" His eyes worked from the grip back to her, he lent forward and placed the ring in front of her. Her grip slacked but not enough for Dean to wriggle free.

"And you." She rasped, her voice was now of a woman on her death bed. Harsh and crackled, Dean's face tightened but finally nodded. She picked up the ring and it vanished in her leathered palms. She flashed Sam a wonky, toothless grin. The next thing they saw would stay with them forever. They watched the face of a ninety year old hag crack and split straight down the middle, then the lines shattered each half until they peeled from her face and fluttered to the floor like autumn leaves, adding to the pile of her throne. She giggled, a childish gurgle, a babies giggle? Their faces contorted with disgust as they both looked up to see what was revealed underneath, the face of a baby. Dean tried to hold back bile rising in his throat as the "woman" danced a finger up his arm and at his shoulder. She worked up his sleeve to reveal tanned skin as her face aged to a young girl.

"Yours is going to be slightly less painless." And she giggled as she placed a slender long hand over Castiel's hand print. Dean was still reeling over the whole face falling thing but it's not like he was strong enough to stop her anyway. As soon as the hand touched the print he felt as if his heart was being penetrated by metal spikes conducting electricity. The girl threw her head back and laughed. A young teenager; "Oh well this is new." Dean clenched his teeth grunting through the pain. "Oh such pain and sadness. But, yet, so much love. And so much strength." She released him. Dean collapsed back in to the chair; he passed out for a second to find Sam propping him up.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Must just be tired from the drive." Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion but was interrupted before he could continue.

The woman's head thrust back words poured from her open mouth without her lips moving: "The cracks are opening and time is coming, seek out its keeper, the collector. He can save you, us, them, those, who? Exactly, him. Find him. Save him. Save us."

Then their world darkened as both the boys blacked out and awoke to an otherwise empty shack. "What the hell?"

"Sammy, you alright?" The woman was gone and the tacky Halloween decorations had evaporated too. Dean helped Sam to his feet, his shoulder gave a strange burn of pain, he ignored it. "Ah, you see Sam; I knew it, just another fraud trying to scam your lungs out of ya." Sam remained silent he couldn't take his eyes off that far door, he was vaguely aware his brother was searching for any clues or secret levers on the now bare table when: "Sam the door!"

"Yeah I know Dea..."

"No! The front door!" Sam forced himself to turn around to face the door they had entered by but instead faced a wall. "This is come freaky mojo right here." Dean was now fingering the solid wall, no trace of a door ever being there.

Sam looked back to the only door in the hut: "I guess we're supposed to go through there."

"Guess so, let's go do this mother!" Dean slapped his brother on the back enthusiastically, eyes alive with excitement. Sam smiled it was the first time he had seen Dean be well, Dean in weeks. He smiled and followed behind his brother as they exchanged looks before turning the knob in to the unknown.

Dean's gun led the way in and they stood in a tunnel, Dean scanned the hall way, no threat, he moved forward still cautious. The only light was coming from the door they had left opened, which slammed shut and they were plunged in to darkness. They both flicked out their torches. "I didn't see an end?" Sam was trying to force the door back open with no success.

"Let's just keep walking, and keep an eye out for any exists."

They had been walking for 40 minutes without seeing much of anything, the phones had no signal and Sam was getting increasingly claustrophobic.

"Maybe we should go back and try to the force the door open again."

"Ah, come on now Sammy" Dean pulled his brother under his arm reassuringly "It can't be much longer; no idiot would build a tunnel without an exit." Sam was so reassured just by the upbeat positivity in Dean's voice that he carried on.

Another 10 minutes passed and finally a faint glow streamed the walls, their pace quickened as they ran towards it. Dean stopped at the door but couldn't hear anything from inside, so he manoeuvred gun first through to the light. "What?" they opened into a giant ballroom, a beautiful high ceilinged 1800's ballroom with carved mahogany wood and shinning floors. It was spectacular, a giant gleaming chandelier radiated light on to the floor making every movement look pristine and captivating.

"Hey Sam look!" Dean was prancing around in an Elizabethan wig: "Here put this on." Sam had been wandering around, jaw hanging, trying to understand. He looked down at Dean who was holding up a puffy costume that went beyond frilly.

"What? No Dean stop messing about, how did we get here?"

"Through that door."

"Yes thanks, Doctor House. But none of this makes sense." He went back to the door opened it and was met with a wall.

"Ah, come on! We well we have to keep moving forward then." Dean leapt to the opposite door humming, half dragging half dancing with Sam.

Dean didn't bother going in gun cocked, this time he just made sure it was in a prime and easy access apposition if needed it.

"This is getting weirder." They had walked into a laundrettes, rows and rows of machines stacked and vibrating. Most of them occupied by swirling colours. "Should we wait, I mean someone is bound to come in and collect these clothes?"

But Dean had already dragged him to the next door. "Best to keep going, besides where they gonna come from Sam, there's only one door." He swung through to the next room. "Now we're talking!" A bar, true a see through bar with funny shaped stools but a bar none the less. Dean helped himself to a beer and handed one to Sam who refused.

"Just a beer?" Sam queried.

"Huh?"

"Well, the way you've been inhaling the stuff recently I thought you would have got something stronger and by the bucket load."

"What you on about Sam, we're on a job, got to keep on game. Shame on you Sammy." He chuckled and grabbed a fist full of bar nuts as he hurried to follow a happily confused Sam who was opening the next door.

"Woah, trippy." Dean spluttered through a mouth full of mixed nuts.

"What the hell is this?" Sam circled what looked like a massive circuit board with some sort of giant see through chamber in the middle. The walls were gold with metallic rings protruding out of them.

Moonlight Serenade suddenly poured around them, he turned to Dean who held his hands up in denial along with his beer and chipmunk cheeks. "Sorry."

"Dean, what did you press?"

"I don't know there's too many buttons."

When a knock from a white door with 12 windows stunned them to silence. Sam looked at Dean who nodded. Sam went to undo the latch.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

John staggered in to find Sherlock face down in the centre of their living room, dressing gown sprawled around his legs.

"Sh...Sherlock?!"

John threw down the shopping bags and ran to his roommate's side. He flipped the body over with more urgency than care and met dead eyes staring past John on to the ceiling. John couldn't stop the shaking of his hands when he went to reach for a pulse. Sherlock suddenly drew an extended breath and released a roar of:

"BORED!"

John flooded with more relief than anger but still released the cradled man so his head hit the floor with a satisfying thump and proceeded to throw his jacket over the infuriating man as he took the shopping to the kitchen. Sherlock didn't move, he just let the jacket shroud the dullness around him, he breathed in the musk of John as he listened to the unpacking; 'Milk, eggs, a jar...Unknown jar...Jam? Marmite? But we're not out of either.'

"John, what's in the jar?"

John turned to Sherlock who was still under his coat, "Well if you ever tried to help me unpack you'd know wouldn't you."

John finished unpacking and took a seat in the arm chair facing Sherlock's back side. "Have you looked through the papers?"

-Silence-

"Sherlock?" He nudged his bum with his foot which was replied with a grumble and suddenly Sherlock bounced up and strode to the window, the evening light caressed the tall man's silhouette as he looked on to Baker Street with contempt.

"John, it is sickening, this stillness. There has been nothing in the papers, for three weeks now, nothing. Why? Why John? There's something wrong I can feel it."

"You can't just for once be happy that the England is harmonic?" As soon as he said it John realised how ridiculous it was. Sherlock marched up, nose to nose and arms gripped to both sides of the chair committing John to his position.

"Without this, what do I have John? I need stimulation, my brain is devouring itself." Sherlock hadn't moved and his panting seeped up John's nostrils, he down cast his gaze unable to keep eye contact with a pair so penetrating. "Give me problems, give me work."

"Right, well. It's London so I'm sure you won't have to wait long." Sherlock flipped himself out of John's personal space, unsatisfied. John audibly exhaled and sunk in to his chair as Sherlock wandered to his room.

Moments later he emerged in a casual suit. John raised his eyes over his laptop screen, "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Sherlock wait. Wh..." The door closed behind a sweeping blue coat and Sherlock was replaced with diminishing footsteps. John sighed, 'But at least he was getting out the flat for the first time in weeks, hopefully it'll do him some good.' Yet that thought didn't stop the army doctor staying up all night till he returned.

Sherlock flew down the stairs unable to be sedentary any longer, the cab was waiting outside and he directed it to Scotland Yard. He pulled Lestrade's access card from his coat and strode towards the building. 9.15pm, Lestrade and his band of incompetents should have left by now, due to the lack of paperwork they would have been getting over the past few weeks. He made his way pretty easily in to Lestrade's office, with minimal confrontations besides the occasional cleaner.

He paced around the office, hesitating of what he might find, it could say that there hasn't been anything for the police's concern, or that Sherlock had been severed from communication with the police and would no longer have the privileges on cases. Not that would stop him of course but, although he would never admit it, he needed Lestrade and the authority that came with his company. He couldn't decide which would be the worst scenario, so instead he blocked the thoughts, inserted the key copy he had made and pulled out the closest file. Dated last week and renewed every day this week with the same signing: 'Nothing to report.' Sherlock almost crumpled the file in clenched angry fists. He thrust the file back in the cabinet with such velocity the whole contents of that draw shifted revealing the bottom of the draw and an open crack. Sherlock pushed his fingers in to the opening and holding on to the rest of the files, lifted the lid. Inside the false bottom of the drawer was a thick, yellow file filled with news cuttings and scribbles. There was too much to just take pictures on his phone so he put everything thing though the photocopier. 'Perhaps I should have brought John.' He was getting frustrated with the speed of the photocopier. He checked the other files and bottoms of the draws to make sure there was nothing of significance, then replaced the old files to its secret home, picked up a fresh sleeve and tucked the copy under his arm, hidden by his jacket.

2:47am. Sherlock burst through to 221B, swinging the door with such force that it slammed its shelf shut with as much force it opened with.

"Jesus Sherlock!" John had leapt to his feet in military attack form, but Sherlock said nothing and threw the papers down on the coffee table.

"Sherlock? Where have you been? It's 3am, God; I've got work in 4 hours." But Sherlock was scattering the papers over every inch of the table, flinging anything off that was in the way.

'Organised chaos.' Thought John. 'Good sign, it means he's found a case.' John took a seat next to him and picked up the now empty file sleeve, he saw the stamp of Scotland Yard imprinted on the header.

"So, Lestrade gave you this then?" Sherlock paused for a millisecond and then resumed his frantic antics.

"Oh, Sherlock you didn't?"

"Not now John."

"But, Sherlock this is illegal even for you; stealing from the police."

"They're not going to know, anyway they need me." Sherlock snapped his impatience and excitement were running him: "Besides, it's not worse than shooting a man, is it John." That didn't soothe the creases of worry from John's forehead but what was done was done, Sherlock was too far gone at this moment to be reasoned with. So instead he turned his attention to the sprawl of papers.

"So, what is all this, what have you found?" Sherlock sighed and clapped his hands together, pausing the streams of thought that were fighting alongside each other simultaneously, but John deserved that much.

"This file was hidden in Lestrade's office. It's something he has been collecting for the last four months now. He turned to look at John and saw the tiredness in his eyes but also the clear determination that he was going to stay and help. "Lestrade isn't quite as absent as we presume." John raised an eyebrow but let him continue. " He's documented the dwindling crime acts over the last few months until these three weeks where it has been nothing, at all, no murders, no break ins, not even any pre-teen shoplifters."

"Right."

"Don't you see John?" Nothing! This is not human nature! Where's the struggle, the beautiful destruction."

John could watch nothing but Sherlock, when he was like this, it really was extraordinary, passion and childlike wonder ebbed through him and he shone his brilliance. "Now look John, really look." Sherlock directed him to the clippings; about two hundred photo articles each talking about some various crime. John looked for a few minutes, scanning various articles, but soon the words swarmed on the page and started bleeding together. He rubbed his eyes to try and clear them; Sherlock placed a hand on John's arm.

"You need sleep." John sighed with his eyes closed and a weary smile, John was used to staying up night after night with Sherlock when they were on a case but without any work Sherlock had almost regressed to a childlike state in a constant need of attention, and company, and entertainment. It had exhausted John. But this is exactly what Sherlock needs and he wasn't going to abandon his friend for something as frivolous and selfish as sleep.

"No, I'm fine, really. So tell me what is so obvious that I'm missing. And why did Lestrade hide this, and why didn't he come to you about it?"

"I'm going to make some tea, do you want some?" Sherlock stood towering over John as he passed to the kitchen ignoring the look of surprise on John's face. John decided not to mock the detective and just graciously accept this rare occurrence. He was still studying the articles, he felt so close to seeing whatever it was Sherlock could see but it was just out of his grasp. Sherlock reappeared and handed him his cup, John smiled and took a sip, a generous amount of honey overpowered his taste of the rest of the tea but he gave Sherlock another appreciative smile as thanks.

Sherlock looked back his papers and waited for the Xanex to kick in. Several minutes later: an empty cup and a doctor snoring lightly, face softened. Sherlock picked up the smaller man and carried him upstairs; he turned off his alarm and let his flatmate get some well needed rest.

It was 11 am before John roused. He rolled on to his side away from the light flooding in between the curtains; it took several minutes for it to register.

"OH SHIT!" He kicked the duvet off and checked his alarm clock, 11.06am. "OH CRAP, CRAP, CRAP." He flung himself out of bed pulling on trousers and tearing off his bed shirt. He stumbled down the stairs, shirt in hand and trousers undone trying to remember where he kicked off his shoes last night. He tumbled in to the living room flustered but stopped dead. The living room had been converted into a web of coloured string; he dropped his shirt and walked in with an open mouth. Each wire connected to an article or print on any number of the four walls, it was beautiful and terrifying.

Sherlock walked in from the kitchen to see John standing with his back to him, shirtless, trousers hanging off his hips and looking up at his creation; 'No time for underwear then.' Sherlock placed a slice of toast in his hand which brought John back in to reality.

"Oh crap Sherlock I'm late. AGAIN! Sarah's going to kill me." Blushing slightly when realised the state he was in, hurriedly did his trousers up and pulled on his shirt.

"You called in sick.

"I...what?" John stopped scurrying about looking for his shoes and straightened to look at Sherlock. Even through John's puzzled expression Sherlock could see how younger he looked now he had actually slept.

"I called in sick for you." Sherlock looked at John with a deadpan expression.

"What, why? Why would you do that?"

"Because you would have been in no condition to treat patients. Besides I need you home today."

John collapsed on the sofa next to Sherlock; he slumped his head in his hands and stroked the back of his neck. Sherlock watched this soothing action. "Thanks, I guess, I suppose I would have been more a burden than help at the clinic. And I do feel a lot better now." Sherlock was looking too smug. "Although, I don't remember how I got to bed last night."

"I carried you."

John turned to stare at Sherlock who was following a particular blue string with his gaze. "You what?"

"I carried you. That's how you got to bed last night." John's cheeks flashed red and he turned his head in fear of being seen.

"But, no. No, I was looking through the file with you, and then... and then you brought me some tea..." John couldn't recall anything after the honey. "You...you drugged me, you son of a bitch."

"John it was necessar..."

"You son of a bitch. The only two times you have brought me tea and they have both been drugged!"

"Well, the first time it was actually just sugar."

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT SHERLOCK!" John was fuming and his embarrassment had been replaced with rage. "How could you do that Sherlock?!" He faced the angled man and glared accusingly in to pale eyes.

Sherlock wanted to shrink away, John was the one person he hated to disappoint. "I, well, you needed sleep and I needed you today."

"You don't get it do you? You machine! This is a complete violation of trust I...I just can't believe you would do something like this, to me!"

Sherlock kept his chin raised with an unreadable expression plastered on defensively until John had slammed the front door behind him, then his head dropped in a long exhale.

"Sherlock?" A warm voice echoed round the door followed by a quick, soft knock.

"Not now Mrs Hudson!" and Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown around himself and lied on the sofa with his arms round his chest.

John paced the high street till he settled on an all day breakfast diner, he realised how hungry he was considering he had thrown his slice of toast at Sherlock before storming out. But when he sat down to eat the food tasted bland, he couldn't swallow most of it and when he did he felt more empty then he had to begin with. Another hour passed as he wandered through Covent Gardens contemplating Sherlock's perspective. He guessed he understood his reasoning but theperformance was unforgivable. At least he wasn't angry anymore, just disappointed at his treatment. He really thought he had made a breakthrough with Sherlock, he thought he could make him that little bit more human. He made his way back to Baker Street, deaf to the surrounding buzz of London.

As soon as he set foot in to the now strung flat he was confronted with a wide eyed Sherlock: "John, sit."

"Sherlock, not now I just want to have a shower, just give me 10 minutes then I can start to comprehend all of this." We waved a hand vaguely at the hanging wonder.

"No, John, this is, just sit." John rolled his eyes but sat where directed, opposite Sherlock, the coffee table separating them. On the table was two tea cups on saucers, each identical: design, position, amount and colour of content. He looked back up at Sherlock. "Remember the: 'A Study in Pink' case as you so 'observantly' put it." John nodded. "Same concept."

John stared back at the cups and back up to Sherlock, Sherlock apparently was waiting for John to make the connection. He didn't. "Two cups. Your choice and I will drink whichever one you choose for me." John stared at Sherlock again, pale eyes showed no falter and no real clue as to what was actually happening.

"John." John still hadn't said a word, but Sherlock's eyes had now softened. "I've, disappointed you, but I'm not sorry." John scoffed. "I did what had to be done and now it seems it is stretching our relationship. So I'm going to show you that we can trust each other. One cup I poisoned and you have the choice of which one I will drink."

"Are you saying this is all a roundabout way of apologising?" John shook his head and stifled a laugh; he didn't know whether to pity the ego or be touched by a Sherlock trying to be thoughtful, as elaborate and twisted as it was. "Wait, poison? What sort of poison?"

Sherlock ignored that; "John look at me." John stopped smiling and looked at Sherlock, who had gone deathly serious. "I trust you John, with my life. And I need you to feel the same."

'Of course I do.' Sherlock moved the cup on his right closer to John. "This is the one with the poison."

John paused for a second taking it all in. "What, no. Sherlock." Realising Sherlock was actually expecting John to go through with it. "Sherlock, I'm not doing this, this is ridiculous. I accept your apology."

John started to rise from his chair but Sherlock reached across the table and guided him back down. "John, this is important. Please."

John was getting annoyed and increasingly worried. "No, I won't...I can't. Don't be an arse." But Sherlock only replied with hard eyes and a slight pout, John knew this look, he wasn't going to give in. So he sat back down and stared intently at the tea cups. 'He's leading me to the left one, but it could be a bluff, or a double bluff...or a triple bluff.' His head began to spin, and Sherlock could see it all. 'But why would he direct me to the left one. This is a trust thing right? So he wants me to believe him? Or pick the right one to get even? It has to be left. Has to be.' "Please Sherlock; you don't need to do this." 'I've always trusted you, I was just angry.'

"Have you made a decision" John's eyes darted to the left one briefly but remained silent refusing to play this idiotic game. But Sherlock saw, and before John had time to react, Sherlock downed the now luke-warm tea on his right. He stared unblinking at his friend.

"I...what...SHERLOCK! Damn it are you ok?"

"Of course John."

"...So I picked the correct cup?"

Sherlock smiled up at him and John swore under his breath with relief. "I really hate you sometimes."

Sherlock winked and turned his languid body so he was laying flat, length ways of the sofa; he propped his head up and eyed the ceiling.

"Well?"

"Hmmm?"

"Well a few hours ago you were running around like a maniac and now you're just lying there."

"Yeap." John threw his arms up in confusion. Sherlock's gaze didn't move. "There isn't much to do but wait; besides, I don't want to do myself an injury when it kicks in."

John's thoughts stumbled over what he said about the case then snapped back painfully when he mentioned the drugs: "Wait, what?! Sherlock! You told me I picked the right one!"

"You did. But I drugged both."

John leapt across the table kicking over the reminder of the tea, "Sherlock. Sherlock?! What do you need? What did you put in the tea?" Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. John's voice broke as he forced the eyelids opened checking the pupil's reactions: "No, Sherlock. Don't." He pushed up Sherlock's jacket sleeve and ripped the cuff open. He forced up the shirt sleeve and began to check the pulse when he saw the ink just under the fabric; he rolled it up further and on his wrist was written: 'Conc. Xanex.' John collapsed on to his heels and his panic exchanged for nervous laughter. "What a prick."

It was 9 hours before Sherlock woke in bed with a glass of water by his head and some biscuits, he sat up, he felt slow and groggy. He downed the water waiting for his brain to kick back in to motion. He sucked half a custard cream then put it back on the pile. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept so long, it didn't agree with him. But he stumbled out of bed, stretching, his pyjamas rising, revealing a white stomach to the cool breeze coming through the open door. 'So John can keep an eye on me I take it. Always the doctor.' "Wait, pyjamas?" His mind raced back to the hours before; 'Suit, it was definitely a suit. I was wearing a suit. He looked in his full length mirror: Pyjamas. 'He dressed me.' Tussled bed hair danced on his head as his hands ran through it while his cheeks flared red. He slipped on his dressing gown and decided not to bring it up.

He trod out into the living room and was met with John inspecting the web network on one of the walls; he turned when he heard Sherlock's movements.

"Evening, Sleeping Beauty." John's eyes crinkled in a smile. Sherlock straightened his lips in a look of disapproval which was completely see-through to John. John giggled again and then turned back to the pinned papers. "I can't believe you did all this. In one night."

Sherlock walked to the kitchen to fetch another glass of water, unable to hide a small grin of pride and satisfaction. "So do you see now?" Sherlock returned with shiny lips from gulping and shiny eyes for the case.

"Urm, I think so, well, most of it. I think. But go on tell me, I know you're dying to."

Sherlock waltzed gracefully between the mesh of string and hanging papers to get to the centre with John. He started explaining, directing John's vision to various pin points and John couldn't help but see him as a concert conductor, he could almost hear the music seeping from Sherlock's mind simultaneously dancing with his thoughts.

"Lestrade has been collecting them for months. I don't think he understood what it meant though, because he didn't fully see the links. See, what do these 12 clippings have in common from all the rest?" He looked at John expectably

"Urm, they're all the biggest death losses."

"Good, what else?"

"Err..."

"The photos John."

John moved closer to study them.

"Well, there's..." He paused and moved back and forth between the others: "Wait, there's..."

"Exactly! John exactly!"

"But what are 1950's police boxes doing all around London?"

"I don't know. Yet."

"Maybe it's like art thing? Or a joke at the printing office?"

"John, do they look faked to you? No." John inspected the 12 closer, each picture contained part of a police box, sometimes only a slither of a blue corner, but in every one of the 12 photos there were signs of their presence. "Now Lestrade saw this but didn't look deep enough, but you can't blame him, he's an idiot."

"Well he managed this much, you wouldn't have got all this without him."

Sherlock shot daggers at his flatmate: "Yes, well, I rarely read the papers; I get you to do that for me,"

John didn't know why he winced at that but disguised it through a snort of indignant air and told Sherlock to proceed.

"First thing was first. Organise them in to dates. That's when I saw it."

"Saw what?"

"...You outstand me sometimes John." He threw John a notepad with: 'TIME IS OPENING' scratched across it and the 'G' circled. John looked back to the newspapers; it was silent for a few minutes as John's cogs creaked. Until he gasped: "That's fantastic!"

Sherlock grinned: "The first letter of each of the 12 headlines: "Two dozen people killed Regent's Park: 'T'" He ran to the eighth one: Pupil shootings at London South Bank University: 'P'" He ran through the whole list: "...TIME IS OPENIN!"

"So what about the 'G'?"

"Precisely John! Where is it? Which led me to this!" He spun John round 180o to face another wall, a map layout of London streets: "Each location of the big news pieces are plotted with these blue pins. They're circling; they form a perfect 4x4 square see? And then the four corners: Regent Park, Islington boat club, London South Bank university, Victoria Station, connect the four corners together..." He stuck the centre with a white pin in the blue box: "Great Queen's street, our 'G!'"

John stood there, he figured his mouth was unhinged but he didn't care, he felt like he should applaud but settled with: "Bloody brilliant." Then: "But when?"

"Ah! See now back to the dates!" He sped them back round to the third wall, barely avoiding the dangerous string. "See! It's always the same."

"Every 4 weeks..."

"EVERY 4 WEEKS!" "Sherlock was beaming. "Something big is going to happen John. Something big, in 4 days, and we're going to be there!"

Two days had passed, John had been getting anxious but Sherlock was getting more and more excited, John had thought that waiting would have made Sherlock insufferably frustrating but instead the waiting seemed to sweeten the mystery of the case making him insufferably excitable. John doubted he had been sleeping at all, and wouldn't eat unless John forcibly demanded it and at best it was only green apples and slices of ham.

The end of the third day John was still at war with himself. He had had this conversation countless times with Sherlock over the past couple of days but he persisted one last time. "I still think we need to inform Lestrade."

'Oh here we go again, Doctor Watson and his commitment to the individual life rather than the importance of the bigger picture." Sherlock threw his arms up dramatically: "And tell him what John? We know there's a bigger conspiracy at work then you think because we broke into your office and stole private police files?"

'We?' "Well, we could just say that you collected these yourself."

"Oh think John, half of them have got his bloody hand writing all over them."

"But what about the civilians? 10's or 100's of innocent people are in Great Queen's Street are going to die from whatever this is that's going to happen tomorrow."

"It's none of our concern John."

"None of our conce..." John's voice hitched and stuck in his throat in disbelief. "We're talking about innocent lives here, Sherlock. You can't say that's not important, we need to get the place evacuated." His eyes bore Sherlock's face but Sherlock remained fiddling with his violin.

"John, we can't, if we change anything or set off a chain that leads whoever it is to know we know about it then well we don't know what could happen all I know is it is a bad idea. John, we need to know what's going on."

John threw Sherlock a glare who still hadn't looked up and stormed to bed determined he would do everything he could to help those people tomorrow. He finally dropped off listening to Thomas Newman's: Whisper of a thrill floating out of the living room from Sherlock's violin.

There was no pattern to the times in the newspapers which meant they had no idea when this was going to take pace, they were ready at 6am and they made their way to High Holborn.

It was 2:35pm before anything happened, they had circled the circumference of Great Queen's Street multitudes of times even up from Drury Lane to Remnant Street, trying every path and alley until for no rhyme or reason a blue police box appeared in a corner of the high street outside a Starbucks.

"Sherlock there!" Sherlock whipped round, they had passed that corner thirty odd times that day but it was if it materialized out of nowhere and why was no one paying it any attention. They sprinted to it in disbelief to its reality and fear of it being a mistake. But after they got to five feet away they slowed in caution. They both circled the box. Sherlock stopped at the back and knocked on the wood, he pressed his ear against it, 'How can I not tell if it's hollow or not?'

"Sherlock" John was at the front of the box, ear pressed to one of the doors: "Is it just me, or can you hear music?"

Sherlock dove to the blue wood. "Moonlight serenade." Sherlock tried pulling the door open. Locked. He circled around again: '50in x 50in x 98 in.' While John knocked on the entrance.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

The door swung inwards opened by a giant shaggy haired man who looked at him with confusion. "Put your hands up! Now...what..." John had pulled his handheld automatic from his belt, the man had stepped back with his palms up flat and John had taken the opportunity to walk in. But what he saw stopped all thought and his arms went slack lowering his gun.

"John? John! Are you alri...?" Sherlock ran back round and had followed John in.

John got brought back to the situation by a gun being pointed in his direction by a playboy in a wig and a mouth full of food: "Who are you?" The man was almost choking.

"Who are you?" John demanded back, the tall man interjected: "Hey. Now let's just cool it for a second." But neither men lowered their weapons.

The other gun holder began shouting something incomprehensible but the taller man interrupted: "Hey is your buddy alright?"

"Sherlock?" John asked behind him but refusing to tear his eyes from the suspects. "Sherlock?" But all that replied was shallow breathing. John turned his head for a second and saw Sherlock inside the door on all fours panting.

"Shit Sherlock." John left his post and ran down the metal platform to his friend.

"John..." He was struggling to breathe let alone talk. "It's bigger..." gasping shallow breaths. "On the inside..." John was now supporting the detective's weight.

"Sherlock look at me, you've got to breathe ok."

Sherlock's eyes were wild and unfocused.

John forced Sherlock's head up cupped in his hands, he slapped him across the cheeks and his eyes focused on John. "Follow me. Out. In. Out. In." John forced his hand on Sherlock's stomach forcing him to control his breathing, he pushed his hand in: "Out." Then released the pressure. "In." Till eventually Sherlock's breathing had regulated enough for John to prop him up. He had slipped his hand in to Sherlock's jacket and removed Lestrade's badge and the handcuffs he always keeps with him and stuffed them in his pocket.

He moved back in to military stance but when he turned around the shaggy giant had ran behind the shorter one and was slapping him hard on the back, as John inched forward to the commotion he saw a blue faced man being held up by the taller one.

"Oh, what seriously." John ran round the strange centre piece and pushed the brown haired man out the way. He clenched his fists under the diaphragm and did a few sharp thrusts till the man slumped on the floor spluttering. He took the opportunity to hand cuff the man's hands round his back and then pointed the gun at the other one.

"Now." John said after catching his breath. "Who the hell are you?" After the tall one checked his friend was ok he stood to face the doctor. "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean." He indicated to the cuffed man who was awkwardly trying to heave himself up.

"Well you're under arrest on suspicion of murder and attempted murder." He flashed Lestrade's badge.

"Woah, woah, hey wait. We haven't done any...wait let me see that badge." John didn't react; he just moved forward in order to subdue the enemy. "Stop, woah! That's an English accent right? And that looked like an English badge."

"Yeah, so?"

"Dean, we're in England..." The surprise caused Dean to have another coughing fit, and his reaction was confusing John. "He looked back at John. "We were in South Dakota a few hours ago."

"Don't be ridiculous." But John's judgment was swaying, Sam had a very honest face and his pleading huge brown eyes didn't seem to be lying.

"No, I swear, we don't understand it but it's the truth." John still eyed them suspiciously. "Really, we don't know, we just sort of ended up here.

Dean had managed to get to his feet. "It's true, whatever you think we've done we haven't." His voice still sounded raw and he cursed the handcuffs for rending him limp and unable to rub his throat.

None of this was making any sense to anyone, John needed Sherlock but he was still indisposed.

"And you are?"

"John Watson, and that over there." He nodded to the crumpled coat in the corner: "Is Sherlock Holmes."

"Nice to meet you John." Sam extended an open hand; John hesitated but reached out to shake it. Sam then pulled John closer and threw a flask of holy water over his face. John stumbled backwards wiping it off his eyes. He raised his gun back up. "Sorry, we had to make sure."

"Make sure of what? What did you throw at me?"

"It's ok, it's just holy water."

"Holy water?"

"Yeah."

"And why the hell did you just throw holy water at me." A commotion at the door made John turn around Sherlock was hanging off the handle trying to get out. "Don't move." He threatened the Winchesters and then made his way to Sherlock. "Hey, hey calm down Sherlock."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Sherlock was wide eyed again and pacing round the door, relentlessly trying to open it or break it down in every way possible.

"Sherlock now's not the time, we can work this out later first we have to decide what to do about them." John shot a gaze back at the brothers who were now standing together whispering amongst themselves. 'Damn it. Sherlock come on I need your help...'

Sherlock could feel his hands still trembling so he stuffed them in his jacket pockets, straightened his back and hardened his face. He strode towards the two men. He looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow and smirked when he saw Dean. He circled them predatorily. Then stood facing Dean, barely a threat with his hands incapacitated. "Name?"

"Dean and Sa..."

"Last name." Sherlock sighed.

"Winchester." Dean raised his chin to the taller man.

"You can release him John."

"Are you sure.

"Are you kidding look at these two, all brawn and no sense. They aren't behind any of this."

Dean tested his handcuffs again. "That's rich from Mr Panic Attack."

John saw that Sherlock look that gets him in to so much trouble as he turned back round to face Dean. "Sherlock don't."

"Well, Mr Daddy Issues, I suggest you shut up or those handcuffs aren't coming off."

"What did you just say to me?" Dean was fierce and daring Sherlock.

Sherlock was more than happy to play along: "Oh please, its written all over you, always standing just slightly over your younger brother, been looking after him from a young age eh? Where was your Dad? A drunk I take it, so definitely following his footsteps."

The hand cuffs were slicing his wrists now due to his clenched fists. "Watch your mouth Shirley."

"Armed and drunk, well, that's America for you. Oh and driving drunk by the looks of it, a lot of driving. Homeless in fact, wow, your parents raised you well."

Dean leapt forward and smashed his head in to Sherlock's, aiming for the top of the nose but missed, both men on the floor groaning in pain. John and Sam picked up their partners.

"How, how did he do that?" Sam addressed John.

"Sherlock Holmes, genius. Pleasure." He said whilst rubbing the red mark on his forehead. "Now why are you armed, you're trained obviously but not by the army so once again your father, but the holy water? Wait, wait oh please don't tell me you're a couple of those UFO, ghost, ghouls and werewolves conspiracy hippies? Taken really seriously over the water isn't it." He snorted mainly at the shorter one; the taller one he could tell was educated but led blindly by his moronic brother.

Sam spoke up, a voice of reason: "Can you just take off those handcuffs and we can explain who we are and what we do and you can tell us how you got here too." John undid the handcuffs after checking clearance with Sherlock. Both sides were eager to fire questions but a whirring metallic noise sounded through the room, they were thrown in every direction trying to hold on to something for balance for a few moments till it calmed.

"AH HELLO!" A voice circled the gold chamber; the men stopped rivalling and throwing accusations at each other when they saw a smiling face too close to the lens appeared on a hinged screen. The chin sat back revealing a floppy haired man in a tweed suit and a green bow tie grinning to his audience. "Ah! Yes, blimey. Sorry! I'm a bit late. Hello all!"

"Who the hell is this now?!" Dean exasperated.

The man straightened his tie and stared straight down the camera. "I'm the most important man you'll ever meet. Hi there!"

Sherlock and Dean both scoffed. "Yeah we can tell by your genie hat."

"It's a fez you hairless ape." The man adjusted the green fez balanced on a brown mess of hair.

Dean laughed: "Ape...ha, what are you then?"

"I am time, planets bow to my name, as will you. I am The Doctor."

Sherlock picked up: "No, John's the doctor."

"I thought you were policemen?" Sam contributed.

"Not exactly..." Answered John.

"I am The Doctor, I am the voice of the universe. I am so much more than your worlds combined. I am God." He bellowed.

'You Brits are nuts.' Thought Dean.

"Paranoid delusion disorder." Concluded Sherlock.

"And I thought legs over there had a God complex." Dean mocked.

"You with the face, shut it. I'm The Doctor. The most important man in the universe, so here's how it's going to work; you're here because I brought you here. Each of you are the most interesting of your reality."

"What do you mean reality?" Sam had to ask.

"Even in your world where demons and angels are reaping the surface you're all still so closed minded. There are infinite worlds and infinite realities."

Sherlock's head was spinning again.

"Any idea what this dick is? My bet's on another ignored Angel, again, desperate for Daddy's attention." Dean quizzed Sam.

Sherlock had gone quiet so John stepped up: "I'm sorry this is all going too fast, angels, other worlds, what are you people on?"

"You really haven't worked it out yet? The Captain Americas' fight demons. You and Nancy Drew over there prove Scooby Doo was right, well at least in your world. But now I'm the bridge, and I've brought you both together."

"You're saying you hunt...ghosts...and demons?" John was rubbing his temples.

"And Angels on occasion." Dean chipped in.

"I..." John looked at Sherlock who was still silent and an impossible shade of white, he could see his mind trying different alternatives: dreaming, drugs, hallucination: all rejected. So John decided to accept this truth and move on, keep a cool head for the sake of Sherlock. "Ok, so you're alternate...world has demons and that running loose. But then why would you want us?"

The Doctor snickered: "Sherlock, the consulting Detective, a genius of his time, well in most times how could I resist? And I couldn't have him without his live in partner."

"But why? Why are we all here?" Dean had taken the floor.

"You really do lose IQ points just talking to this one, don't you? When you're very old and the very last you get very lonely."

"Oh just get a girlfriend." Dean spat unsympathetic.

"Silence! I have power, unlimited power. And you were born to amuse me. Now you can play for your freedom and the safety of your times."

"You really think you're better than us?"

"Well, yes."

"Then come fight us, man to a braces wearing bitch." Dean taunted.

But The Doctor just winked and pinged one of his green braces, immediately rubbed a sore nipple. "All in good time solider boy."

"None of this is real."

"Oh, yeah, no, no, I'm sure you're right but just in case perhaps you should run and hide."

He rubbed his hands together "Right kids, let's have some fun!"

Sam stepped in. "Why are you doing this?"

"Oh please tell me you're going to try and appeal to my humanity, with your big brown eyes and ridiculous eyebrows. Do I even look human? There are no men like me. Just because I am time doesn't mean that it doesn't touch me, and once you get this old and this bored, you realise adoration fades, but, BUT. Worship, stories and religion of fear they never end. So here I am a madman in a box and it's time to create a new legacy."

The Doctor yelled an 'AHA' and with that Sherlock fell to the floor for the second time today. "What have you done to him? Sherlock? Sherlock?!" John ran through the procedure, pulse: normal. Pupil reaction: normal. His diagnosis would have been unconsciousness but what had caused it. "You fix him right now!"

The Doctor look straight down the lens; "...No." John exclaimed in frustration and went back to try to wake him up. "Oh don't get your knickers in a twist; he's fine it is just a dream state, sort of, kind of, well no, not really. He has been sent back to a point in his past before you all entered here with no recollection and I've created a little scenario for him to indulge in and we get to enjoy the show." The screen flickered to the inside of 221B.

Sherlock returned from his meeting with his Lestrade, entered the flat and called for John; silence. He wandered round the flat, no sign. He took his place in the armchair; 8:27pm, his phone buzzed in his pocket, a message from John: 'Same place, Same time. Round two. JM.' He barely had time for the shock to kick in before he was sprinting down the staircase to the street. Time slowed excruciatingly while sitting at the back of the taxi: "I'll triple the fare if you can get me there before 9."

"Yes sir!" The cab darted through back ways and sped through the city to the pool.

8.59. Sherlock charged the pool doors: "John?!" He heard the doors bolt behind him. John was tied to a chair in the centre of the room in nothing but his boxers and that ugly parker Moriarty forced him in last time. Head slumped on to his chest. Gagged.

"John!" Sherlock ran forward. A glisten of red told Sherlock it had been a rough blow to the back of the head rather than a drug induced sleep that caused John to be unresponsive.

"Uh, uh, uh. Stop right there, Sherlock." That lyrical voice melted in the air as Moriarty stepped out of the door which Sherlock heard also bolt shut behind him. Sherlock stopped when he saw the flash of red dots that always accompanied his nemesis.

"John! Are you ok?"

"He'll be joining us shortly, so while we wait, why don't we have a little chat." Moriarty was dressed as impeccably as expected. With a rich blue tie that shone boldly contrasting his black suit.

Sherlock had raised his gun, composed his thoughts and strengthened his posture: "So, round two. I didn't think you were the one for monotonous routine."

"Weeelll, it may be the same scene, the same cast, but the act is a little different."

"Ah yes, the red eyed actors." His eyes whipped round trying to identify how many snipers there actually was. "Why don't you just face me?"

"Because, I'm not stupid Sherlock." He was sauntering around the pool side, hands in his pockets, completely at ease.

"Just forget about John we can handle this ourselves, one to one."

"Kinky, but Sherlock when did you become so predictable, so simple? This pet must be slowing you down."

Sherlock glared at the smirking man till John stirred. A grumble that sounded like his name.

"John are you alright?" John lifted his head revealing the gag; he tried to mumble something again then settled with a nod.

"Ah, now the damsel is awake how about we cause a lot of distress?" Moriarty floated over to John and rested his hands on his shoulders and his chin on the top of John's head. Sherlock's eyes narrowed in disgust.

"You have two choices, my dear." He had started running a finger down John's cheek. Sherlock's jaw and fists clenched. Moriarty chuckled: "Down boy, it's just one little choice, no big deal." He moved his lips to John's ear: "Whether to save darling Johnny boy here." The musical purr of his words so close to him made John shudder.

"Whether?"

"Mmhmm. You see Shirley, I promised you a burn. But as I'm sure you remember, you think you're nothing but a vessel of intellect. Somewhere under that luscious mop of yours is a heart and tonight you're going to see its face." John spat something angrily in to his gag.

"Adorable." He ruffled John's hair while letting his other hand reach into his pocket. Sherlock locked his gun on Moriarty again as a threat.

"Oh please, why don't you throw that piece of cheap plastic away, we both know you're not going to use it, well not yet anyway..." Moriarty locked eyes with Sherlock grinning as he pulled the blade from his pocket and without a blink of conscious buried it in to John's scar on his shoulder.

John couldn't hold back a scream and Sherlock reactively took a step forward.

"DONT YOU MOVE SHERLOCK HOLMES!" Moriarty roared deafening the echoic pool. Sherlock stopped, if he tried to help him undoubtedly the snipers would shoot John before he got close enough to help, he thought about just shooting Moriarty.

"Don't be dull Sherlock, I mean, you could shoot me. Although...I'd feel sorry for the staff who'd have to clear up our little John and yourself...not to mention the others."

"Others?"

"Yep."

"What others?"

"Well are you going to play the game, not that you have a choice. That comes later."

"Fine."

"Brilliant! Right Johnny pet, it's your big debut, remember to smile, act your heart out!"

He pressed the side of his cheek to John's as he burrowed the knife in deeper, twisting as it went. But John bit the gag refusing to give the satisfaction of a scream. He clamped his eyes shut.

"You have two choices, Sherlock. You have to shoot your loyal dog here. Or you, well don't." He dug the knife in further; "Come on doctor, no one's believing that." Sherlock figured by John's scream and the length of the remaining knife that he was touching bone now.

"I choose don't."

"Aren't you going to wait for the rules?"

"Worth a shot."

Moriarty giggled and moved on top of John so he was lounging on his slap, his legs folded over John's arms secured to the arm rest. Even from there Sherlock could see John's skin crawl and as was his. He watched Moriarty lean in to John, his lips millimetres from his, Sherlock couldn't see much but the back of Moriarty's head, but the tensing in John's muscles said millions. Moriarty reached over the chair at an excruciatingly slow pace and slid out a hammer. He stroked it down John cheek, down his chest and rested it over one of John's exposed nipples, the cold metal making his skin flinch.

'Pockets attached to the back of the chair.' "So what are the stakes then?"

Moriarty still draped over John's lap began swinging the hammer like a pendulum in front of John's knees; "Uncomfortable are we?"

Sherlock forced his cheeks to cool. "The terms"

"Jealous more like."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed to slits. "Well we know Johnny wishes you were here don't we lovely?" Moriarty forcibly nodded John's head; John kept his eyes down cast from Sherlock's. "Awh, young love, how...pitiable. And don't you know how to pick 'em John, eh? Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy over there, a statuesque man with the emotional capacity of a rock."

"Enough. Tell me the terms so we can end this nonsense."

"Oh Shirley I go all tingly when you get all commanding. But nonsense? I wouldn't go that far..." He paused then swung the hammer to strike John's knee.

"NO! STOP!" Moriarty paused just before impact; John's face relaxed in relief but was still shiny sweat. "Please."

Moriarty smiled back to Sherlock; "That's better, ok, so here's where it gets interesting. If you kill Jumpers here; it will also mean you have made the decision to sacrifice everyone you or John have ever cared for, not only your damn brother and your sweet, old landlord but everyone, parents, girlfriends, Lestrade, Molly. Everyone. And everyone is being monitored right now; they're all waiting for your signal." John's eyes were wide; his cheeks had gone from blushing red to a sickening white. As had Sherlock.

Moriarty had closed his eyes, lying back in to John, relishing, absorbing the energy of the situation. "Or..." Suddenly he smashed the tool in to John's right knee. "Not so psychosomatic now eh?"John yelled and tears stained his scrunched up face. Sherlock's chest was burning and he was almost struggling to control his breathing.

"Or, if you choose to save lover boy over here, I start blowing shit up. And I'm not talking about the odd building or car here and there, the whole "terrorist business." Noooo. I'm talking about World War Three! Hundreds and hundreds of buildings crumbling and bowing to me. Multiple countries. Billions will die Sherlock. A true piece of art."

Sherlock made sure he had control of his voice before he spoke. "You've been busy."

"Oh don't flatter yourself, I've had this planned for a while, just been waiting for the perfect opportunity and here you came striding in with your hat and your sidekick and your sharpened cheekbones, oh perfection! But!" He turned back to John: "Look at what you've done naughty, you've made him human! Well, human-ish. You tried your hardest to destroy this masterpiece with humanity and look you've only made him soft. Tut tut."

He leant in to John's ear. "And he still didn't get it did he." The Irish man rose from John's lap, kicked the hammer out of the way and ambled over to Sherlock. Sherlock ignored him, now he had a clear eye line to John, his knee had already started to swell and the knife hadn't been removed, but he had stopped crying. What Moriarty had said made John red again.

"What did you say to him?" Sherlock hissed, Jim belted with laughter.

"You see doctor! He's never going to get it. The virgin here separated himself so far from relationships and intimacy as child he can't even recognize it anymore." The criminal was circling the detective like a bird of prey. "Your ignorance is pathetic Sherlock."

Sherlock's anger was intensifying, infuriated that he was unable to tend to his friend. But he knew he had to listen to Moriarty if they stood a chance of surviving this. 'Keep him talking, there has to be a way out, I just need more time.' "I thought you didn't like getting your hands dirty."

As soon as that was said Moriarty stopped prowling round Sherlock and stood behind the taller man, he started running his hands over Sherlock's back. "True, I don't." His hands flitted from Sherlock's neck to the small of his back. Repeating this motion gently applying more pressure. "Usually. But you've got to make an exception for your biggest fans."

"You're insane." Sherlock's body had completely gone rigid. At a loss of how to handle all this. He could feel the criminal laughing into his back, as pale fingers emerged beneath his arms and started playing with his chest.

"Nah, I'm you. But more advanced in every way." Sherlock swallowed hard, his eyes firmly shut and he tried to control his body temperature and pulse. He tried to let out a scoff that sounded more like a groan. "Don't believe me? Oh honey you know it's true." He circled back to stand in front of his plaything, his hands worked his way up to his neck, his thumb stroked the sharp jaw line and he softly tugged his ear before knotting his fingers in his hair and giving the roots a sharp tug forcing Sherlock's body closer to his. They were pressed together and Moriarty raised an eyebrow accompanied by a smug smile. Sherlock cursed his himself when he felt Moriarty's flaccid groin against his stiffened organ. He cursed his body for betraying him. He cursed Moriarty for having so much control and he cursed John for being able to see it. He risked a glance at John who had been looking away, John had been unable to watch that intimacy any longer, it was painful to see Sherlock like that, so helpless and innocent and he was furious at himself at how his body had also reacted. Moriarty turned to follow Sherlock's quick glance. "Well, well, isn't this _exciting,_ my boys standing to attention." He saluted them both and took a seat back on John, languidly spreading himself on his lap like a cat. He tip toed his fingers up John's thigh. "God I could play with you boys all day but I really am on a schedule, can't keep them waiting forever."

Sherlock tried to get the blood back to his head; 'Everyone and anyone that means something to John and himself compared to the billions of innocent people and the initiation of a world war.'

"No one is truly innocent Sherlock."

He tried to block out the sing-songy voice, he could feel Moriarty dancing in his head, he knew he could see every thought, he felt like he needed to scrub the inside of his skull to get rid of the sickly stench of Jim. 'I cannot be so self absorbed to save just my friends.'

'Yes you can, every decent human being would choose the people they loved. I can see it all Sherlock, I know you. I am you.'

'I have to save the many over the few.' But then he looked at John.

"Ah, just remembered have you. Yep you'll have to be the one to stop his beating heart; you'll watch the disappointment and hatred stare up at you as you smother the wall with his blood written in your name."

'No. I can't.' But John was shouting through the material at Sherlock. He looked into his blue eyes, huge and at a loss. He was almost tearing at what Sherlock was being asked to do, John would never be able to make that decision and watching his friend being forced to do so much, it made him ache, it was overpowering the physical pain he was enduring. Sherlock tried his final card. He turned the gun on himself. Moriarty sighed and stood next to John using the side of his face as a leaning pole.

"Really Sherlock, I considered you much too fond of yourself to so do so. And how incredibly tedious, you could do that I suppose, run away from our John, at least you could tick continuity off, but if you die then they all die. Both sides of the bargain. Now you are not _that_ egotistic. Oh and as you figured out that would also happen if you do anything OTHER THAN I HAVE SAID!"

Sherlock's chest was tight and his stomach was churning. It was minutes before he said anything. "How do I know you're not going to do both anyway?"

"Now Sherlock stop wasting time. I am a man of my word and. I DONT LIKE TO BE KEPT WAITING!"

Sherlock decided. "I have a condition." Moriarty stopped toying with John who let out a sigh of relief but Sherlock wasn't meeting his gaze.

"I...I get to choose how John dies." Sherlock was trembling but he tried to keep it out of his voice.

Moriarty beamed: "Hmm. Such as? Drowning?" The consulting criminal gestured to the pool.

"...Suffocation."

"Sometimes Sherlock you amaze me, fine, this could be entertaining. Obviously he keeps all his ties on." Sherlock nodded, he placed the gun on the floor and cautiously inched towards John. Part of him kept trying to separate himself from his body as to watch the scene play out from above, but Sherlock refused to detach himself; he refused to let John go through this alone.

Moriarty pulled out the knife making John spasm in agony. He threw it to the side and allowed Sherlock to take his place by his friend.

Sherlock stood over the smaller man and stared in to his eyes, he looked at the still hardened bulge in his boxers, then back to John who had turned away ashamed. Sherlock knelt in front of him with a look that said it was ok. He placed a hand on his good knee and studied every inch of the man, the man that deserved to be remembered. The scar of the war hero. The hands of the healer. The legs of his partner. The face of his everything and the heart of everything that could have been. He stood and straddled his friend, trying to avoid his injured leg. He looked into John's eyes, he saw the hero that John had always hoped he would see in Sherlock. The ordinary man that did extraordinary things, he was so much more than anyone he had ever met. And he would be the one to end it. He stroked John's cheek with the back of his hand. John lent in and closed his eyes. Sherlock brushed along John's collar bones and down to his chest. Every memory of him filled his chest, flooding it with warmth. He rested a hand on John's heart and lent in to his ear. "Open your eyes."

John opened wet eyes, tears scattered on his lashes, Sherlock caressed along the lip outline over the gag. Sherlock was saying all that he could to John through his eyes, an apology, words that would never be said and John silently wept, not because he was about to die but because knew what would be left behind. After John gave a weak nod. Sherlock lent in and placed a kiss on each eyelid, he let his forehead rest against John's as he pulled out the purple silk hankie in his inside pocket, he locked eyes with John as he placed the silk over John's nose. He held it in place as he saw John trying not to struggle; Sherlock held him tight and whispered over and over. "It's ok, John, I've got you." The movements were restraint thrashes now. "John, I've got you, I won't let go, I promise. It's ok." Then the body slumped, there was no fight, no pulse. Sherlock remained there clasping John shaking uncontrollably. But he wouldn't let himself cry, not yet. He stood to face Moriarty with dark, dead eyes. Moriarty was applauding.

"Wow, what a finale, bravissimo my friend. Let's just make sure it wasn't too good." He stepped closer to John but Sherlock stopped him.

"No." Sherlock growled at him.

"Nuh, uh, uh." Moriarty was wagging a finger at him. I can still send off the second signal, now step aside."

Sherlock glared viciously at the man but moved back. Standing in front of John. Moriarty lent in to take a pulse but swiftly pulled out a gun and shot a bullet through the back of John's head. "There, now we're sure."

Sherlock dropped to his knees, covered in John's blood.

"So you chose the worth of the many rather than the few who were worth dying for. Hmm, can't say I'm not a little disappointed but this war isn't over Sherlock. It's been fun." And with that Moriarty had shadowed out of the pool, as were the red dots, though it would have been almost impossible to tell.

There wasn't anything to do but to get a cab back to Baker Street. He paid the cabbie extra to ignore the blood and the body. He carried John in his arms; he stepped over Mrs Hudson's body and carried him over the threshold. He sat John in his arm chair, made two cups of tea and placed John's on the arm rest. He sat opposite, placed his tea on the coffee table, and sobbed.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"Sherlock, Sherlock?"

An orange haze blinked in to his vision before a creased face came in to focus. He mouthed John's name but was unable to make the sound. He sat up slowly, staring at the man in front of him. Unbelieving, he must of fallen asleep on the sofa, if he moved too quickly he would wake and his John would be gone. John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock placed his hand over John's, he felt so warm and so real. He stared back. He pulled John in to a desperate hug; he clasped the thick woollen jumper crying in to John's neck. John couldn't keep a tear running down his cheek either as he felt Sherlock clinging to him as if he was trying to stop him from fading to nonexistence.

Suddenly he leapt up off of John: "But John, no I ..." His eyes darted he was back in the metallic room. "No, it couldn't have been a dream. I saw you...I kil..."

"Sherlock, I know, it's ok, you're safe, you never went anywhere. That dick put you under some sort of unconscious trance." Sherlock ran round to the screen avoiding the odd looks from Sam and Dean. He adjusted the screen so they would be eye level.

"DOCTOR! SHOW YOUR SELF!" The Doctor stepped back on a screen with a smile and a bag of crisps.

"Welcome back grumpy!"

"What did you do to me?"

"I told you, you have to entertain me and boy that was a show, wouldn't you all agree?" Sherlock felt sick that these strangers and most of all John had seen him so weak. "How?"

"It's a thing, like a magic thing, with a bit more science."

"Tell Me!"

The Doctor laughed through a mouthful of crisps. "It destroys you to not be the smartest one in the room doesn't it. Claws your insides raw that you can't understand and can't show off."

Sherlock peeled himself off the screen ignoring John who was trying to get his attention and calm him down. Sherlock ran to each of the possible exits trying to force them open.

"We've tried all that legs."

Sherlock ignored Dean and shot the locks: nothing, wood: nothing. Windows, ceiling, wall, all nothing. His breathing was ragged and he was getting reckless.

John walked up to him. "I know it is hard for you to understand all this, it's hard for all of us, well, probably not as much for them but right now we need you to just to accept it so we can figure a way out of this."

Sherlock looked at him; he looked so lost and insecure.

"And Sherlock." John reached up and held his face to his "Thank you." Sherlock looked in to warm eyes, he hugged the detective. "Thank you. I can't imagine what you went through, and what you had to do. I felt it break you and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. But you made the right decision, I'm so proud of you. Thank you." John's eyes were shining when he looked back up at Sherlock, it was too much for him and he knelt to the floor and buried himself in John again. They stayed like that for minutes.

"Woah what is with the oestrogen in the room?" Dean blurted, "Oh, come on ladies, it didn't even happen."

"Dean, shh." Sam struck Dean for his insensitivity. Sherlock and John composed themselves although Sherlock was staring daggers at Dean. The Doctor had put his feet up and was smirking at them all.

"So how do we end this?" Sam asked.

The Doctor swivelled on his chair. "Look a swivel chair! I love swivel chairs! Is there anything better oooh." He stopped himself suddenly "Oh right, yeah, you don't."

"You can't keep us here forever." Dean challenged.

"Actually, I can."

"People will come looking for us."

"They can try." The screen flickered to a picture of the earth. They were floating over it, revolving around it like a second moon. They looked on in awe of beauty and fear. "This glorious machine is The Tardis: Time and Realitve Dimension in Space. Sexy, I know. Welcome to my ship! Neither time nor space can hide from us. So yeah, good luck to the..." The screen crackled and a secondary voice was trying to break through. "D...Dea...am?"The picture cleared and the static was replaced with a young man with big lips and even bigger eyes. Three men raised their eyebrows at the handsome sight, the forth shouted: "Cas!"

"Sam, Dean, I found you."

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Dean questioned Sam, Sam turned to him in confusion.

"Dean, its Cas...Castiel."

Cas was now staring intently at Dean with hardened eyebrows.

"Nice to meet you Cas." He gave a playful wink and Sherlock groaned.

"Dean now is not the time to be petty."

"What are you babbling about Sammy? I'm just being polite."

"You don't think there are more important things to discuss?" Interrupted John.

"Not now." Brushed Sam. "Do you actually not know who this is?"

Dean studied the screen for a second. "Nope, should I?"

Sam looked back at Cas confused and Cas was biting his lip. "Show me your arm Dean."

"What?"

Everything clicked in to place for Sam. "Dean, take off your jacket."

"What on a first date?"

"Do it!"

"Ok, ok, God."

Dean shook his jacket off revealing perfect un-blistered skin. Sam's mouth fell open and Cas closed his eyes. "He won't remember me."

"But where's it gone? A blistered handprint can't just vanish."

Dean wasn't understanding any of this. Cas turned to Sam. "The Oracle took it. I didn't, I didn't think he would consider it for the most precious item."

Dean interrupted; "But I didn't offer anything, Sam did Dad's ring for the both of us."

"Dads ring? What I didn't know our Dad why would I do that, you did Cas' handprint."

"Don't be stupid Sam why would you even say that about Dad."

"Dean I never met the man, he was always your Dad but I never even saw him, remember you told me he refused to have contact with me since I was born because he knew what I was."

"Are you high? Dean was a mixture of distraught and anger. Cas stepped in before Dean could try and knock some sense in to his younger brother.

"It was the Oracle. The objects of preciousness are offered to her and once she takes them she takes all memories attached to them. So it sounds like Sam, you won't remember your father and Dean...You won't remember me."

"No, no I don't know you."

"And Sam doesn't remember John Winchester, explain that."

Sam was holding his head trying to recall anything of their apparent father when a thought occurred: "Wait. Did you know this was going to happen?"

Cas looked at Dean and then back to Sam "I didn't know who you were going to choose."

"But you did know that we would lose all memory of the people we loved?"

Cas couldn't look at them "...Yes."

"Now I'm sure I've never _"loved"_ this d-bag."

"How could you Cas?"

"I had to I'm sorry. It was higher orders."

"Higher order?"

"He's an Angel Dean."

"Oh not another one really?"

"I was the one that gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

Dean spat a laugh: "No, Sam got me out we would never need help from you ego bastards."

Cas' face crumpled in a wince.

"Dean, it's true."

Cas opened his mouth to say something but instead all they heard was a mechanic wailing noise and the screen glowed green.

The doctor reappeared putting the flashing green instrument back in his pocket. "There we go, good old sonic eh? Ooh I do hate angels. Anyway, how you coping over there?" The Doctor directed the question over to Sherlock and John.

Sherlock replied with a blank expression. But John was firing questions. "How did he do that we're in space? Angels really? You went to hell? What the hell, it's real? Higher power, he meant God right? This is insane."

No one acknowledged John's rambles Sam and Dean were too engrossed with the information to process anything else.

"So Dean what did you think of good-lookin? Eh?" Neither men humoured the doctor with an answer. So he carried on talking: "Ugh, brothers. I hate brothers. I have a brother, had a brother, well used to, well he's still out there somewhere. But that's another story, who wants those ties aye? Besides the angel has given me an idea. So here we go again. 3...2...1..."

Dean and Sam collapsed on to each other before they even hit the floor out cold. "Ooh I get to do the split screen thingy." The doctor beamed to Sherlock and John before the screen started to change. Sherlock ignored the screen and checked the bodies; he came to the same conclusion as John and with no hope of waking them up. There was nothing else to do but watch.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Dean and Sam picked themselves up, they scanned their location. It was a short hall of some grimy hotel, the carpet sticky and the obscure paintings on the wall just depressed the tone further. There were only two doors though, one each side of them, one door with a rusting plate that said Dean and the other Sam.

They looked at each other then back to the doors. "We could both go through one door?" As soon as Dean said that they heard both doors bolt.

"I guess not then."

"Let's just get this over with." They turned to face their rooms. The door swung open as soon as they touched the handles. They stepped in and each were struck by their surge of memories.

Sam fell to the floor overwhelmed by every memory of his father. Dean was thrown back to the wall his mind penetrated with thoughts of Cas. Sam opened his eyes, he was in one of the houses they stayed in for a while when he was about 10. He smiled at the nostalgia. He heard the front door click and his Dad emerged. Sam ran to hug him but with a sweeping motion John flung his 10 year old son against the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing you little shit?"

Sam brushed himself off.

"How dare you touch me, you filthy demon child. You're not part of this family. Dean is waiting in the car, we're leaving we can't be around you anymore."

"No, Dad?"

"Don't you speak to me!" He smacked Sam across the cheek. "It's all your fault. You're nothing but a burden. You killed your mother. My wife! Because of you she was slaughtered. Then you were such a burden to your brother. He was the only one that stopped me from killing you right there and then. Think of how better everyone would have been without you. But he convinced me to let you live. Yet, how do you thank him? You abandon him and run off to law school."

"Stop, Dad."

"Fat lot of good that did, you murdered your girlfriend. Sweet little Jess. So much like your Mother, is that why you burned her?"

"No, no I didn't it was Yello..."

"IT WAS YOU SAM! You know it was you. You are so lucky you got me killed before I could see what a monster you turned in to. Just as I expected. Your demons blood fetish. How could you Sam."

"I..."

"You betrayed every hunter out there, you destroyed the Winchesters name and you destroyed Dean."

Sam slid down to the floor, held up in a corner, unable to look at his father.

"Everyone who cares for you, you destroy without a second thought, and just pass it off that it was for the greater good, that you are better than everyone else. That's why you enjoyed not having a soul so much, didn't you! It's because you're not human. You never truly had a soul; you're just a cheap imitation of life. Otherwise you would have ended it a long time ago. If only you could face your past but your cant because you're a coward. Dean doesn't need you, he pities you, you're a burden. He needs you around to make sure you don't do something stupid again. You are nothing."

Sam had pulled his knees up to his chin.

"You are nothing. You claim to be better than the demons you hunt but you're the monster. You're the freak. You're nothing but Lucifer's vessel and you are not my son." John spat on Sam's shoe. John had turned to walk away but Sam found his voice.

"And you're not my father."

John started laughing, he slowly turned around. "I am John's thoughts manifested. Anything he thought about you here I am."

"But you're not every thought.

He was still smiling but his eyes were unusually dark; "You think so?"

"Our father was a good man."

"To Dean, yes."

"To both of us."

"Then why did you run from me."

"I was young, I didn't understand. But Dad did, and he still wanted to keep me around."

"So he could be the first to kill you."

"He loved us both." Sam was standing now. "He was a great man with a great burden. But I am not ashamed anymore and neither was he. I may not be the hero he was but I am not the evil you claim."

John was scowling now. "He didn't want anything to do with you; he forced Dean to deal with you instead. He hated you."

"No, I used to think so, but he did everything to protect us. We had a difficult relationship but we loved each other and I would never choose to forget anything he did for me."

John started to roar.

"He died for us and I would have died for him."

John stormed forward fist raised, just before he could back hand him John exploded in to nothing and a recognisable father stood in front of him, with a warm smile and soft eyes. "Thank you, son."

Before Sam could reach the man he was pulled back into the hallway and his door vanished.

He was back to his normal age and abnormal height, he still remembered everything about his Dad and he smiled to himself, but it soon faded when Dean hadn't emerged.

He tried the door but was unable to force it.

"Sam." He whipped round to the voice; Cas was standing a little too close as usual.

"Cas, oh thank... are you ok?"

"Dean needs your help."

He turned back to the door; "But I can't get in."

"I can hold the door open for a few seconds."

"Ok, do it." He turned ready to force himself in.

"Wait, Sam." He put a hand on his shoulder and turned him round. "I can't go in with you; he will be seeing me so I can't interrupt that. And I need you too..."

"What?"

"What you're going to see, it's going to be hard to watch, but Dean needs to get through it."

"...Ok"

"He has the option to forget or remember me. He has to make the decision, if he doesn't he will be stuck in this loop. You have to help him to choose."

"How do I help him choose to remember you?"

"It might be better if he forgot me."

"Ca..."

Castiel was contorted in sadness; it seemed so strange to see the normally impassive Cas react so emotionally. "I'm sorry for what you're about to see Sam. Please forgive me."

Dean picked himself up, he felt so full of Cas he couldn't believe he didn't notice how empty he felt before. He looked around and he was standing outside Vegas, he had taken Cas, ever since the strip club he wanted to show Cas what else he could experience, for Cas' benefit but also because it was freaking hilarious. And knowing he was influencing an Angel made it that much sweeter. They had had a really good night and Cas was surprisingly good at poker, he had accidently insulted a few waitresses and they were feeding each other drinks most of the night. He felt Cas supporting his weight as they stumbles out of the Casino for a bit of air. It was like he was watching it play out behind his own eyes with no control of his body, silently an observer. "Oh God Cas, this was a riot we should do this every weekend."

"I don't think your liver could handle this much abuse every weekend."

"Meh, its seen worse."

He felt the cool metal under his legs as Cas laid him on the hood of the Impala, then took a pot next to him. They laid side by side staring up at the sky. The stars seemed closer than usual. "You know, my Mum always used to say each star was an angel watching over us. And even during the day when you couldn't see them, you know they were always there, watching."

"I was Dean."

Dean turned a heavy swimming head to look at Cas who was staring back intensely. Dean laughed and brushed the statement off.

"Why can't you see how deserving you are, instead you just push people away."

Dean forced a laugh trying to change the subject. "Don't get all mushy on me Cas; I get enough of that from Sam. " He shoved Cas playfully but instead the force almost made Dean slip off the hood. Cas caught him and hauled him back up but didn't release his hand. "I'm serious Dean." His look was so intense and penetrating it made Dean feel like his veins were pumping fire. "You are always the reason Dean."

Their faces were so close Dean barely had to move to kiss Cas. Cas' eyes were wide in shock before he sunk into it and returned the kiss deep, heavy and a little innocent, like he knew the procedure but never got the practice. And just like that present Dean was forced into his body, no longer an observer. He felt the warmth of the Angel, he felt so safe, so at home and comfortable. But he pulled back. Cas' eyes flickered open revealing completely blown out pupils, so dark and the look he was giving Dean, so possessive and powerful sometimes you forget Cas is a supernatural being of God but right now Dean could feel the air pulsing with power. It made him release a throaty growl and pounced on Cas again. It was another few minutes before Dean pulled back for air and had time to clear his head; "Cas, wait stop." But Cas was nipping Dean's neck and it was making it harder to speak in coherent sentences: "I don't think this is a good idea, not right now anyway. I think the booze and that has just screwed us up a little...ahh!" Cas had found the sensitive spot behind his ear. "No. Cas please." But Cas' nibbles were turning into bites and his touches were now bruising.

Dean tried to slow him down but Cas grabbed his hands and forced him to drop on to his back, he held his hands above his head as his mouth carried on their route round his neck. With the other hand he tore apart Dean's shirt and it fell to the floor. "Cas, stop." He tried to get up but it felt like he had the strength of ten men pinning him down. Dean started to panic but Cas was just getting more feral.

Cas removed his hands, Dean tries to wriggle free but invisible bonds were holding him in place. "Cas let me go!"

Cas was either ignoring him or too far gone to hear him. He was working on Dean's belt while biting a nipple. Dean arched his back, an internal struggle between body and mind.

Cas pulled off his jeans "Cas! Listen to me." But Cas was admiring the sight, this beautiful damaged man semi naked on his equally beautiful and damaged car, just for him. Dean's hardened member stood, throbbing at the loss of contact. Cas stroked through the fabric and Dean's eyes rolled back as he breathed his name. But the sudden cool air to his cock and the cold metal pressing under his ass brought Dean back. "CAS! Don't do this." Cas was hitching one of Dean's legs over his shoulder. Dean was getting frantic but his begs to Cas were going unheard. "Please Cas, don't...please." It was basically a whisper now but Cas looked for a second Dean saw his friend. "I'm sorry." Then with no more hesitation, forced his cock into Dean. Cas groaned at the tightness surrounding him, the warmth and the satisfaction of finally being a part of Dean. Dean moaned at the little lubrication and the alien sensation. His insides felt blistered and bruised. He looked at Cas who appeared to be fighting himself not to move. But it wasn't long enough for Dean before Cas was thrusting in and out gaining speed. With each pull it got easier though, Dean figured it must be the blood.

Sam dropped into this scene. He saw what was happening and the pain on both of their faces. He was too shocked to move.

Dean felt like he was going to throw up, he felt sick at the fact Cas could do this to him and sick at the fact he was enjoying it. Cas had lent in, his mouth was so gentle on his neck but the rest of him was so wanton and needy like he had no control. Cas' stomach was now moving against his painfully hard and unattended dick creating beautiful friction. He wasn't going to last long and judging by Cas' frantic thrusts and gasping breaths neither was he. Dean turned, tears pricking his eyes and caught his reflection in the windshield; a stranger enjoying this humiliation from his closest friend.

Cas built his speed, just as he was about to cum he placed his hand over his handprint. Dean's whole body shook with this connection, it felt like it was more than just skin they were sharing, the feeling ran so deep. He came screaming Castiel's name as Cas breathed his. Cas collapsed on top of him. Dean felt his bonds release but he remained still he just let their chests rise and fall until the comforting bliss slowly dripped away.

Cas picked himself up and slowly pulled himself out of Dean. Dean gasped at the loss, and the emptiness left behind. Cas looked like he was going to say something but couldn't look at Dean, instead he vanished.

When he did the final memory came back. That this was the memory. Dean slid off the car, his back painted red with blisters. He sat against the tyre with his jacket wrapped around him shaking.

Sam cautiously approached. It wasn't till Sam placed a hand on Dean that he even realised he was there. Dean flinched violently when Sam touched him.

"Sam? Why...you weren't here last time."

"No, I'm here to help."

"Did you...did you see any of that?"

"Yes."

Dean looked at Sam with red watered eyes. He buried his face in his arms. Sam moved round so he was squatting in front of him. He could see the puddle of blood pooling on the floor. This was too much for Sam, he had never seen his brother this vulnerable. He held on to Dean's elbows Dean sniffed and looked up to his brother.

He struggled to find any words that could comfort him: "Dean, this isn't real you need..."

"Not real!" Dean exploded. "You go through this and tell me it's not real."

"I mean, I know it feels real, but don't forget were on still on the Tardis."

Dean nodded "You need to make a choice. To remember or forget. Or you're going to be stuck in this loop."

"I can't Sam." He dropped his head again.

"Dean you are stronger than this, think about all we have faced together."

"I can't choose...How can I? I can't forget Cas, all he has done for us, all he is. I loved him Sam, but how can I live knowing he did this."

Sam realised how this must have been sitting on Dean, carrying this alone for so long, no wonder he was on kamikaze missions on the jobs and then how much better he was when he didn't remember Cas.

"I can't make the decision for you. But whatever you pick you will still be the strongest person I know and I wish you felt you could have told me about this."

Dean smiled sadly: "Sammy, how could I, how could I explain something I don't understand."

"It's ok Dean. Just, just choose ok."

Dean closed his eyes he focused on Cas. All the memories flowed through him, the good and the bad. They woke on the floor of the Tardis.

Sam sat up slightly too fast that his head swam. He clambered over to Dean and helped him sit up. Sam stared at him expectantly

"You alright?"

"Yeah..." Sam frowned.

Dean raised an eyebrow and stood up to see John and Sherlock mouths slightly ajar just staring silently.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you remember anything that just happened?"

"Yeah I tripped and hit my head? Why?"

Sam's head dropped in disappointment. Dean punched him in the arm. "Hey, asshole you said you didn't mind what I picked."

Sam looked at his smiling brother. "You mean? You remember?"

"Of course I do jackass. Where is he? I need to talk to him"

"Oh you can't he's gone. An Angel from your world is never going to be able to cross the gaps of the universe for too long. I hope you said your goodbyes."

Dean stopped dead. His lungs emptied. 'Cas was gone?'

But The Doctor had already moved on: "Hmm, I bet John's feeling a bit left out."

"No don't." John backed up knowing what was about to happen.

Sherlock stepped in front of him: "DON'T YOU DARE!"

"Hey Sherlock. Catch." The doctor clicked his fingers and John lost consciousness, Sherlock caught the man before he hit the floor, propped him in his lap as the screen flicked back to 221B.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

John had left the clinic and had ambled in to the flat. As soon as he walked in he knew something was wrong. He turned on the light and half the stuff had gone. They had been robbed, he darted round the flat noting the missing items, he stopped when he saw his laptop sitting on the table. 'Why would they leave this?' He turned to the telly which was also still there. 'What sort of crappy burglars are these?'

That's when he saw it. His stuff had been left untouched. Only Sherlock's stuff had been taken. He tried calling his mobile. 'The number you have dialled is no longer of service.' He tried Mycroft and Lestrade, both didn't answer.

All of Sherlock's clothes, had been replaced with his. The flat looked barren without the apparatus', it felt wrong even without the damn skull.

He ran down and banged on the door for Mrs Hudson; "Mrs Hudson are you there? Something's wrong, hello?" He banged continuously till a sleepy housekeeper appeared.

"John, God what time is it?"

"Have you seen Sherlock?"

"You know I haven't dear."

"But all his stuff has gone, has anyone else been into the flat today?"

"Nope I've been waiting for a package to be delivered today so I've been very focused on that door."

John marched away; 'it doesn't make any sense.' He decided to go to Mycroft first; 'he has more eyes than the police.'

"Mycroft. Mycroft I need to see you." He was trying to cram his way through the doorman.

Mycroft emerged as regal as ever and waved the doorman away.

"I'm a very busy man, what is it?"

"Where is Sherlock?"

"Who?"

"What do you mean who? Your brother, Sherlock Holmes."

I assure you sir, I have no brother." He turned to walk away.

"MYCROFT! You have more eyes and ears in this city than anyone; you know where he is so tell me!"

"Escort this man out."

John was forcibly dragged out of Mycroft's sight.

He didn't know what silly game Mycroft would be playing when Sherlock's life could be in danger but he should have expected little help from the face of the government. So he bolted to Scotland Yard. Sherlock still had the access pass so he had to wait for Lestrade to be brought down to the main entrance.

"Oh Lestrade thank God, there's been a break in, all of Sherlock's stuff has gone and so has he, something's happened to him and I don't know what to do."

"Calm down sir, please state your name so we can file a missing persons and a robber, has it been more than 48 hours."

John stared at the inspector.

"What..."

"Your name sir?"

"...You know my name, John Watson."

"Ok John, wait John Watson as in the guy that always writes in with the absurd 'deductions.'"

"What..."

"We've told you before sunshine your absolute ludicrous rambles about subtle connections and detail are just wild accusations with no hard evidence, you need to stop wasting the police's time. Sort ya life out."

"What are you talking about?" John started to back away.

"Consulting detective my arse. Do I need to put you in a holding cell?"

John ran out of the door, his head was spinning 'What the hell is going on.'

He didn't know what else to do so he ran to Sarah's. Sarah opened the door and John pushed his way in.

"Sarah, please say you know who I am."

"What of course I do John." John exhaled an enormous amount of relief.

"And Sherlock?"

"What about him?"

"You know who he is?"

"...Yes"

"Oh thank god, I've been running round London looking for him, but it's like he's been wiped off the face of the earth. No one knows who he is or where he is...Do you know where he is?"

"Oh, John, not again. This is the second time in 3 months."

John was about to question her but she had moved and pulled down his cheek to inspect his pupils. "When's the last time you took your meds?"

"My...What? What meds."

"Oh John, you promised me. That's it you really need to be readmitted you obviously can't do this on your own."

John pushed her hand away. "Where is he?" He commanded firmly.

Sarah sighed; "He's in your head John."

"No, no, why would you say that. Why are you doing this to me?"

"John, hey it's ok."

"NO! No it's not ok! This is anything but ok! I need to be out there looking for him, he needs me!"

"John sit down, please. He's not out there and he's not in danger. He's in your head and the only one in danger is yourself."

John felt faint, so he did sit on Sarah sofa, she took a seat next to him and put his hand on her knee. "If I knew you were getting this bad I would have taken you in myself."

"Shut up, no, shut up. You met him. Sarah you met him when we went to the Chinese circus."

"John that was our date, no one else was there."

"No he was, he saved three tickets and then turned up, I didn't want him there and then he got into trouble and I had to jump that guy. And then, and then we were kidnapped and he saved us. Why don't you remember?"

"John, we went to the circus, just the two of us, but you had an episode before it ended so I had to take you home. There was no kidnapping."

John shook his head. It was real he knew it was.

"After the war you got depressed and you started to make these fantasises to cope. That's all, Sherlock is a fantasy, a coping mechanism."

"But..."

Sarah carried on. "I know it didn't work out between us but I still care about you, and you had been doing well. Your paranoia had decreased as had your schizophrenia; you were stable at the clinic. But now..."

John stared at Sarah on the verge of tearing his hair from his scalp or crying, anything to release these emotions.

"I know why you wanted him around John; he was everything you're not. Smart, beautiful, just amazing in every way. The cases you would fabricate for him they protected you from reality and the man you really are."

She patted his knee: "Don't worry John; we will get you some help."

John swallowed what felt like a cue ball in his throat.

"Urm...no Sarah it's ok, thank you. I think I just need to go home and get some rest."

Before Sarah could protest John was out the door, he spent the rest of the night trudging the streets, questioning the homeless network and visiting all of Sherlock's common places, just for the smallest sign of Sherlock's existence. The night turned in to day and it was 3 days later before John finally stumbled back empty handed, he passed Mrs Hudson on the way upstairs.

"Oh John, good where have you been? The new tenant has moved in upstairs. I can't believe we actually found someone who wasn't bothered by your continuous babblings to yourself. Oh well he seems nice enough."

"Upstairs? But that's my room."

"No dear you're on the second floor remember, Cole I think his name is will be in the one above you."

John thought back to his clothes and his possessions all being in Sherlock's room: "Oh right yeah, sorry, I forget sometimes."

"Well as always feel better love."

John sat in his armchair and stared at the wall, the wall with bullet holes and a yellow smile. The bullets that must have come from his gun. John clawed through his hair. "Could I really imagine it all?" Everything seemed to be fading; he couldn't firmly grasp reality now. He picked up his laptop and tried to check his blog. A blog that didn't exists.

"Ahem."

John hadn't noticed a man was now standing in the shadowed door way. "Nice to meet you, John Watson isn't it?" John span round he knew that voice. The tall man was standing in the door way smiling and holding a box of kitchen appliances. "I couldn't remember what was already there so I just brought all my old stuff." He started pointing out kettles and various other metal tools.

John stood to face the man but couldn't move a muscle he could was just about able to mumble out: "...Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?" The man looked up.

"I KNEW IT!" John ran to hug him. "Are you alright, were the hell have you been? I've been so worried."

The man slowly prised the doctor off. "Urm John, it's me Cole, the new tenant, we met a few days ago."

John stared at the man. "No no, it's you." The same brown mess of hair, the cutting cheek bones and the ridiculously enchanting eyes which can't be limited to a single defining colour. "Sherlock, why are you doing this?"

"Cole, Cole H. Slohmeks. Of 'Slohmeks and Sons.' Nice to meet you." He held out an inviting hand and a sympathetic smile.

John blinked at the slender pale fingers but didn't move. Cole made an awkward cough and slid past John to the kitchen. "How about some coffee huh?"

John sat opposite but refused to touch the coffee. Just staring waiting for Cole to recognize him. "So, John, Miss Hudson tells me you're a doctor."

"You know I am."

"So what's that like then?"

"Stop it! Just stop it! YOU'RE SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

"Listen John, Mrs Hudson told me about your condition and I understand. My father suffered from the same condition in the end years of his life. So you need to know I'm a friend, but you have to understand I'm not who you think I am. I think it would be good for both of us to get to know each other a bit."

It had been weeks John had tried everything he questioned Cole about interesting cases in the papers but was always only replied with: "Oh how terrible, those poor families." He tried to dig up information on his family business but everything came back clean. John couldn't face work; he couldn't face much of anything except Cole. Everything revolved around this Cole, nothing made sense and he was sure that this guy was the cause. John pushed the man up against the wall; he held his throat in place with his elbow. "I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE! I can't live like his, please, PLEASE! Sherlock, just...please." John fell to the floor at the man's feet, he couldn't stop shaking.

"John please I don't know what you're talkin..." The man suddenly burst into a fit of heinous laughter. John looked up stunned. "Oh, look at you, your face! Yeah it's me, and that, that was hilarious."

"...Is it really you?" John pawed at the man's legs. "What happened? Why..."

The man kicked his hands away: "Always the slow pony eh John. Did you learn nothing from me?"

"But are you ok?"

Sherlock blurted another laugh: "Have you missed me John? How much did it hurt knowing I was gone? Thinking none of it was real! I didn't think you would bite at first, like _you _could ever imagine up someone like me, but you convinced yourself you did."

"But everyone said..."

"They did well didn't they, I've been watching it all, very convincing. I didn't even have to pay them. Each of your "friends" wanted to see you break. Wanted to get the needy, pathetic John Watson out of their hair. Even Mrs Hudson was sick of you." Sherlock had been circling the kneeling man. "I didn't get taken. I left. I left you John. But I couldn't resist being there first hand when you finally cracked, watching you crumble, watching the inevitable end to the predictable Dr. Watson. Oh it's been spectacular it really has; rocking in the corner? A bit cliché even for you but still highly amusing and oh so satisfying. How does it feel John to know I couldn't stand to be near you? Who else have you got besides me? You're nothing without me. Maybe, maybe if you had an ounce of intelligence or even just a touch of dignity. Sure the neediness is humours for a while but how can one person be so dull, so boring. So ordinary."

John hadn't said a word, he couldn't. He just knelt there listening unable to connect to his emotions; he felt numb, cold and like the words were carving themselves on to his bones. Sherlock kicked him in the stomach, hard. John crumpled but reached for the man's trouser legs as Sherlock tried to leave. His head was bowed to the ground: "Please, please don't go. Not again."

Sherlock rolled the man over with his foot and stepped on to his chest, he bent down to look John in the eye. "You're so weak." Sherlock smirked. "So, I'll help you, how about that. My final curtsey to the blindly faithful pet." He pulled out his gun, cocked it and handed it to John. John took it with quivering fingers. "Put it in your mouth." John had no control of his arm, he did it automatically, he tasted the sharp pang of iron on his tongue and his finger twitched on the trigger. Sherlock hadn't removed his steady gaze; his eyes were shadowed but wide, almost smiling at John as he placed his finger over John's on the trigger. "Do it." His teeth were grinding against the metal uncontrollably. "DO IT!" His finger twitched again but hesitated. Sherlock lent in closer, his voice was suddenly so soft and gentle: "John, do it for me." John pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. But nothing happened. A blank. Sherlock was staring at John who realised he was still alive. His manic laughing grew from a snicker; he stood and left John on the floor. John didn't move. He couldn't even close his eyes. He just laid still till sleep eventually subdued him.

When John woke his head was cushioned by a warm material surface rather than the hard floors of the flat. He looked up to see 'Cole' holding him. He pushed himself off. Stared. Frozen. The tall man realised. "No, John it's me, Sherlock."

"Why do you keep doing this, what else do you want."

"John look at me, ok, see? It's the real me. There was no Cole. Look around you look where you are. None of that was real." John glanced round the Tardis, his memory trying to come back.

"No, this still you, you're still trying to mess with me. How much did you pay the screen guy? JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!"

Sherlock inched closer: "You." He pulled John in to an embrace, John fought against him trying to punch and kick his way out but Sherlock had surprising strength and held on to the man till John finally wrapped his arms around him back.

"AHEM." The screen was making noise again. "The coat of arrogance and his _companion_" The Doctor spat the word 'companion' then smiled. "Back together once again. Hmm, this is getting far too mushy for my taste, how can we spice it up a little? Well yes...no hang on...OH YES! I KNOW!" The screen went black.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

They all awoke in some sort of room, the air was dense. Sherlock moved his fingers trying to identify the substance, as thick as water but completely breathable, and every movement left behind golden glittering streaks. The room looked endless, infinite in every direction. It was impossible to tell if they were even standing on a solid floor, it felt like it was just wishful thinking and willpower that was holding them up. Above them was innumerable amounts of golden trails, like music lines, simmering trails dancing in every direction, some merged with each other and became brighter. Some swept down and round the men vibrating with energy before whisking back up and glowing off in to the distance.

"Where are we?" Sam asked but everyone else's mouths were occupied, gaping, unable to fathom the ultimate beauty of the place. The colours and movements could make a man weep. They just stood in wonder at the magnificence of this odd firework display.

A scraping of a dragged chair brought the 4 back to attention. The Doctor set a chair down and sat, legs crossed and hands folded over his knees. Dean and Sherlock were the first to spring in to action. Sherlock punched him in the face while Dean pointed his gun. "Ow, that really hurt...Better?" The Doctor rubbed his red cheek but didn't move from his seat.

"Much."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just shoot you in the head?" Dean barked. The Doctor lifted his eyes slowly to Dean, glowing bright blue eyes. "I wouldn't advise it. Because this..." He flapped both arms open: "Is me."

Sam and John had caught up by this point; John caught his breath while Sam asked: "How is this you?"

And what's wrong with your eyes?" John pointed out.

"This is my head, you're in me." He gave a cheeky wink; "And this, my friends." He gestured to his eyes: "Is what freedom looks like."

"No we're just going to wake up in the Tardis again."

"Afraid not, not this time. You're all here, part of me now, amongst my thoughts."

John turned to Sherlock: "Is this what it's like for you?"

Sherlock smiled down at John: "Not as...colourful or chaotic, but yes."

"Oh Mind Palace over there, can only think in black and white. Shows how stunted he really is. Oh except for you John, you're all colour in his mind."

Sherlock punched him again: "Fight back!"

The Doctor realigned his jaw: "No."

"Why not?"

"Those are not my orders."

"Orders, whose orders, I thought you were 'the most important being in the universe,' but you take orders, oh how enlightening." Sherlock smirked.

A man stepped into the light. A secondary Doctor. But his eyes weren't glowing. He stood next to the first Doctor; John took aim on him so both men were covered. "Now I know why my brother favoured you apes so much, so entertaining, why hunt you when you find very creative ways of destroying yourselves on your own. I just have to set the scenes."

"There's two of you, how can there be two?" Dean exacerbated.

"Not exactly." His form melted away replaced by a slender tall man with long black hair and a gleaming gold and green suit. "I am Loki, your God. And you will kneel to me."

"We should have known this was you! This had Trickster written all over it!"

"Dean, Sam, we haven't met yet, I am the one true Loki."

"As in Loki God of Mischief? From those messed up Norse myths?" Another piece of useless knowledge John had acquired from school that Sherlock had deleted.

"Oh, oh my boys. I am so much more than that now."

Dean smiled insincerely: "You still look like a dick to me."

"Silence you insolent child. I am the universe and you will show me some respect."

"Why do you keep saying that what do you mean the universe?" Enquired Sam still pointing his gun.

"When I fought my brother on Asgard, the rainbow bridge was damaged." Dean giggled. "I fell, and I fell in to the crack. I should have been wiped from existence, but instead the crack embraced me." More giggling. "We became one. I absorbed its power and I became all knowing. Infinite. I became the God of all Gods. The one true ruler. I deserved nothing less. I punished my home and its people, nothing but dust and stone now. But as all great minds do, I got bored. So I started opening more cracks all across the universe, all worlds, all of time. I acquire people, collect them. And I watch them in my mazes."

"You're sick." Spewed John.

Sam interjected fuming: "You've been sending those, those monsters to our world? Through the crack? Just to get us here?!"

"Indeed. Aliens. I sent you creatures you didn't know how to fight and with no other option your path would eventually lure you here."

Dean stepped in: "All those people, dead. Wasted lives just because you were bored?"

"Yep! Well it got you here didn't it?" He sneered and then turned to Sherlock: "Your world was a little bit harder. I had to go way back and make sure that John Riddell and The Doctor would cross paths. Riddell would then go on to eventually have children and then grand children and great grand children, you get the picture, where the man's amazing stories of The Doctor would journey down generations of blood. And when you are brought up with those stories, you may start noticing a blue box in the occasional newspaper." John and Sherlock had stopped breathing. "And the lack of crime? Yep, me too. Just picked them up and threw them across the Milky-way. And here you all are, offering your minds for my amusement."

All for men stared unable to form a feasible sentence.

"You people are so obsessed with individuality and satisfying the self that you spend your lives destroying your humanity. Each of you, so emotionally damaged, so weak that neither could live without the other. That dependency is your downfall, sentiment is not an advantage, it will only lead to your inevitable demise. So because I'm such a merciful God, I'm going to do a gracious thing for you. You are going to fix that desperation for each other by leaving one of you behind. I will give you The Doctor, in exchange for one of you. I will return you to your worlds, and return your worlds to what they should be."

"We don't know a thing about each him. We don't even know his real name, why should we help him. Why should we, why should we consider him so much more than any one of us?" Sherlock looked at John in disbelief that John could consider a life less worthy than another, not that he didn't agree just that it wasn't John. Loki's tricks must still be hitting him hard.

"Because he is. All worlds need this man; he is the only man who would actually be able to defeat me."

Dean eyed him suspiciously: "Then why would you bargain him."

"To save you from yourselves, but also he is the only other thing the laws of the universe can't touch, I can't predict him, I only acquired him because of his blind compassion and curiosity, next time he won't be as naive. But I need a challenge now, I need a worthy opponent. What is existence without the struggle?"

"And what would happen if we agreed to stay." Sam asked.

"Well you would sport these stunning blue eyes." He flaunted The Doctor like a car salesman. "You will experience the bliss of never having to make a decision, no morals, no conscience, and absolute freedom in your heart. You would be completely under my control, but with full consciousness. Full awareness during torture, during the heinous things I will set you to do, and you will enjoy it."

"So Hell." Dean's breath had become shallower.

"In essence but with a little bit more creativity."

The group was silent, lost in their own thoughts.

"So, who's going to volunteer?"

In turn each of the four men raised their arm, even Sherlock. "Well this is interesting, but it can only be one, how about I let you boys discuss it for a minute."

Sam stepped forward to the group first: "I'll do it, I know what it is like not to have a soul, I can handle going back. I am a danger in our world, I'm losing my mind and if I can be the one to save The Doctor, someone who could actually stop this maniac then perhaps I could find some peace. Dean, I know you can carry on without me. I want to do this."

"Sam, maybe you're right, you do make a good argument but wait what's that over there?" He pointed behind Sam who turned to look, Dean pulled out his gun and whacked Sam on the back of the head, the younger brother landed on the floor out cold. "Never gets old. Now anyone else going to step forward." Dean was pointing the gun at Sherlock and John ready to shoot shoulders or legs, John slid his hand to reach for his but Dean fired a warning shot. "Don't you dare Watson, listen, Sammy will have a better life without me, you two need each other and I've been to Hell, I can handle Reindeer Games."

John put his hands in front of him to calm Dean: "Dean, think about what you're doing, are you really going to abandon your brother, let me do it. You two sound like heroes so your world must need you. I'm useless, just a broken solider. Let me do this last thing."

"John, how could you even think that? You're the most important man in any universe; you've still got Loki messing about in your head. It wasn't real we would never do that to you, I would never do that to you. My world needs you." He turned to Dean his voice barely a whisper: "Please, please let me do this..." It sounded like he was going to say more but he stopped himself. "I have my reasons, don't waste your life. Please."

Dean had lowered his gun slightly, out of direct range of Sherlock and John, Sherlock took this opportunity to run. He ran towards the chair but John had caught the tail of his coat. "Sherlock don't do this!" Dean then had the lead, forced The Doctor out the chair and took his seat. Loki placed a hand on Dean's shoulder locking him in place. "Not my favourite choice I have to admit, but you can't question his heart." Sam was rising on all fours rubbing the back of his head; he turned to see Dean on the chair. "Say goodbye to your friends Dean, you have saved them."

"Dean...Dean NO!"

"Bye Sammy. Take care of Bobby for me." Dean forced a weak smile, as his brother faded back to his world. He was left alone with an egomaniac with horns. "What are you gonna to do to me?" Dean asked calmly.

"First as promised." Images floated in front of Dean, one of Sherlock and John waking up in their London flat, one of The Doctor in the Tardis frantically pressing buttons and one of Sam waking up at Bobby's. Bobby heaved him up. Sam pushed him away desperately looking for Dean. Dean watched him still as he came to terms with where Dean was and what he had just done. "Happy, all safe and sound. Now." Loki's staff flashed the same glowing blue. "Once you accept my offering, you will have fulfilled man kind's destiny, you will feel what it is like to be lead, you need this control." The point of the spear was closing in on his chest when the floating screens all flashed to a picture of Cas.

"LOKI!" Cas roared from the screen.

"The Angel? Vermin!"

"CAS!" Dean's face lit up. Cas stepped out of the screens.

"What, how are you doing that, stop it. Stop it now!" Cas was getting closer, Dean had never seen Cas so fierce and powerful. Loki stepped back momentarily uncertain.

"Cover your ears Dean." He almost didn't have enough time before Cas screeched, the noise was peaking to his Angelic voice and Dean's ears began to bleed. Cas stopped, he swayed a little. Dean turned to Loki who hadn't moved, he didn't even appear to be breathing.

"What did you do?"

"I've stopped him, for now."

"How, what, how did you do that?"

"The cracks Loki has been opening, I found one. I've been feeding off its power to be able to get here. I can stop time, he is time, and with the crack I had enough power to 'pause' him. For now. It won't last long." Cas' breathing was ragged and he hadn't moved.

"What are we waiting for then come on Cas let's get out of here...wait, Loki said this was The Doctor's mind, how can we still be here?"

"It is, he was never going to release The Doctor, he still has him, somewhere hidden from my sight."

"That son of a frost giant! Come on Cas' mind zap time."

"I can't Dean, I'm too weak. I only have enough power to send one of us back."

"...There must be something here that can juice you up?"

"No, Dean. You need to leave."

"I'm not leaving you Cas." Dean had walked over to stand in front of the Angel. Cas looked in to Dean. It was the first time Dean had ever seen Cas tear.

"How can you say that Dean, after what I..." His voice hitched and he couldn't continue.

"Cas. Cas look at me. I know. I understand, you Angels don't experience things the way we do, everything is more intense for you. It's ok, I've already forgiven you."

Cas was streaming with silent tears now. "Dean, I couldn't control myself. I've never felt love like this."

Dean was taken back, he didn't even think Cas was capable of pure love, he didn't even think he was, yet he knew he was in love with an Angel in a dirty trench coat. "I love you. And I'm not leaving you." He stepped in to Cas, embracing him and placing a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips, Cas held him, he ran his hand up to the back of his neck, caressing his cheek, he put two fingers on Dean's forehead and sent him back to Sam. He looked down at his feet; it had started, unable to move he waited for Loki to wake or to completely turn to stone. Whichever came first.

Sherlock and John woke on the floor of 221B, they stirred with heavy heads and aching muscles. They looked at each other realising it had all happened. They sat on the sofa not saying anything. Until: "I need to shower."

"Sherlock, don't you think we should talk about this."

"Of course John, but first please allow me this one request."

"...Ok. But Sherlock we really need to..."

"I know, five minutes that's all I need."

John stayed on that sofa. It had been 40 minutes since Sherlock had gone to take a shower. He could still hear it running, but that was a long shower even for John's standard. John walked to Sherlock's room, he knocked but didn't hear a reply, he walked in with the intentions to knock on the shower door but instead walked in to Sherlock lying on the bed, clean, showered, in a new suit, staring up at the ceiling. "Sherlock?"

He walked closer and the dying sun caught a glint of metal, a needle. John ran on to the bed. " No, NO SHERLOCK, NO!" The opposite sleeve had been rolled up and trails of red dots spoiled the pale skin.

"...John." It was weak but John heard it. He turned to look at Sherlock who had gone noticeably whiter. "I'm sorry John I couldn't..."

"Shh Sherlock don't say anything, you're going to be ok." John had pulled his phone from his pocket and began calling for an ambulance. Sherlock lifted a shaking arm and put a hand on the phone stopping John from putting it to his ear.

"No...not yet..." His voice was barely a murmur now. John pulled him on to his lap and raised his head nearer his ear. "John, I'm not as strong as you. I couldn't live with what we know. Nothing makes sense. I'm sorry...I can't." Sherlock was holding on to John's jumper.

"What about me, you selfish bastard. What am I supposed to do, do I not make sense?" Sherlock couldn't control himself any longer and tears began to leak down the side of his face.

"I've never been what you think I am John, I can't live with what you expect of me...I can't live up to you." Sherlock was finding it harder to speak. John recognized the sign and his anger was tearing down his face and pouring on to Sherlock.

"Don't you say that, not to me. You're not going to die."

"...I'm scared John."

"No, not today! We'll be fine." He felt like punching the man but instead he wiped away the tears off the angles of his face, this turned in to a caress and he wasn't sure who was more comforted by it. Sherlock lent in to the touch and closed his eyes.

"John, I am sorry. Forgive me." His body started to convulse, John held on to him tighter, he stroked his hair, easing him through, till it all stopped. Sherlock went still and his grip released from John's hand.

"Sherlock."


End file.
